


Dragon Thief

by Whisper91



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Baby Dragon, But mostly dragons, Dragons, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Hartwin, M/M, Unexpected Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper91/pseuds/Whisper91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy rescues a dragon's egg from the hands of tradesmen who seek to slaughter the creature for profit, and sets out on a lone quest across the Kingdom to return the egg safely to the Capital before it hatches. Unfortunately, things don't quite go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LotteLorelei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotteLorelei/gifts).



> Prompt: "Dragons AU. Seriously, anything with dragons in it, you're free to do whatever you like with the plot :)"

.

 

The marketplace is abuzz with activity, crowds of people flocking to the central precinct to admire the goods brought in by traders and merchants from all corners of the kingdom.

Eggsy daren’t blink for fear of missing a moment of it. There’s so much to take in at once; exotic fruits and sweetmeats and foreign spices shipped in from the isles across the Great Sea, magic-spun silk and lace draped over wooden frames and fluttering in the breeze, bejewelled daggers and other finely crafted blades glinting in the sun. And by the gods, he’d give anything in the world for an hour’s leave from his duties to explore it all in more detail, to stop at each and every stall, to linger among the bustling crowd and admire the goods on display.

That being said, he has little in the way of coin to spend for his own pleasure; he’s scraped and saved his money stringently this month, as he has done these past two seasons, so that he can deliver the full wage directly to his mother when he returns home five days hence. Every coin he earns ensures good, hearty food on the table for his little sister, and it’s worth the long hours of labour to know that her comfort is thus ensured. Even if next month’s traders turn out to be less financially accommodating, Michelle already has enough money hidden away to last them through ‘til spring.

“Eggsy.” A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder, Dean’s meaty fingers digging into him painfully. “Stop dawdling, boy. There’s work to be done.”

The youth lets himself be shoved in the right direction, gritting his teeth so as not to say something he might later regret. He’s already learned the hard way that his step-father has no qualms about raising a hand to him in public if he steps out of line; something the man would never have dared to do in front of Eggsy’s mother.

“Now remember,” Dean grunts, steering him forwards at a brisk pace, either unaware or uncaring of the numerous people Eggsy bumps into as a result, “you’re to let _me_ do the talkin’. Just stand there an’ look pretty. Carrios likes ‘em young – if we’re lucky, he might take a fancy to you an’ tip us a bit extra, like the last bloke did. Just don’t go openin’ your mouth without bein’ spoken to first, else I’ll be givin’ you somethin’ to shout about. Understood?”

Eggsy’s jaw aches with how tightly his teeth are clenched, but he manages a shallow nod and a low, terse, “Yes, sir.”

There was once a time when he and Dean had been on far better terms – a number of years ago, when he’d been but a lad of fourteen summers. Eggsy’s tolerance had stemmed purely from blissful ignorance; unaware of the man’s true nature, he’d thought Dean a worthy husband for his mother, a generous step-father who brought home just enough coin at the end of each month to keep the family clothed and fed. When the gods had blessed them with Daisy, Eggsy had been ecstatic. And when Dean had suggested that he cease his daily tutelage with the town’s chief archiver in order to help support his newborn sister, he had been all too willing to agree. Before Daisy was but a month old, Eggsy had been put to work under Dean’s authority as a hired hand in the trading sector.

But in working alongside Dean and his associates these past few years, he’s been granted the opportunity to see his step-father for the bastard he truly is. Over time, he’s become all too aware of just how much money Dean makes from his ‘employers’ with every successful trading scheme; and what’s more, he knows that all but a few coins will have be spent on drink and women and gambling by the end of each month, leaving the man with barely a tenth of his original earnings to bring home to his wife and young child.

It’s enough to make Eggsy’s blood boil. His mother, bless her resilience and fortitude, has continued her tireless work as a seamstress these past few years, despite her ill health since the baby’s birth. All because Dean’s earnings hadn’t been enough to sufficiently provide for her family. Eggsy had once thought his step-father a hardworking and dedicated husband, who’s meagre wages were the result of his tight-fisted employers; the knowledge that his mother could have been living in comfort all these years if not for Dean’s greed and selfishness has long ignited an eternal, unquenchable fire of hatred in his heart.

By all rights, he ought to confront the man and demand justice. The desire to run Dean through with his father’s sword is a permanent, angry pulse beneath Eggsy’s breastbone, and were it not for the fact that the man’s death would bring further grief to his already ailing mother, Eggsy might’ve taken action long ago.

But for now he bites his tongue, lifts his chin, and contents himself with vividly picturing his step-father’s demise in all its gruesome, glorious detail.

“Carrios, my friend!” Dean booms, striding forwards with a rough, barking laugh to clasp hands with a red-cheeked, rotund man, whose extravagant purple and crimson robes mark him as a merchant of some significant wealth. “What’s it been, five years? You’re lookin’ well, Sir.”

Judging by his expression, the merchant appears to be in no mood for pleasantries, although he shakes Dean’s hand accordingly.

“I take it you received my latest missive?” At Dean’s nod, the man seems to relax a fraction, although his gaze is cautious when it drifts over to settle on Eggsy. “Your boy…can he be trusted?”

“He knows to keep his mouth shut,” Dean answers with an easy sort of confidence.

The merchant appears to accept this reassurance, although with Eggsy still bearing the mark of his step-father’s latest fit of drunken rage (a darkening bruise high up on his cheekbone), it’s of little wonder that the man needs no further proof.

 Carrios leads them through the marketplace and towards a set of grand-looking stone buildings. There’s an armed guard standing beneath the archway that serves as a front entrance, but at their approach he bows to Carrios and steps to one side to permit them entry, although he eyes Dean and Eggsy closely as they pass.

“I’m certain you understand why I’m keen for you to take it off my hands,” Carrios says, once they’re away from the noise of the outside world. He waves a server over with an impatient gesture, and the scantily-clad young man comes quickly bearing a tray of silver wine goblets. “I simply don’t have the necessary space to maintain it here – and unwanted questions might be asked if I choose to relocate so suddenly. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

“Of course, Sir,” Dean agrees as he accepts the wine with a gracious smile, and Eggsy wonders how anyone could buy into his tone of faux-understanding. It makes him bloody _cringe_ just to hear it. “My associates and I are more than happy to keep it safe for you until it’s ready to be used for trade.”

Carrios nods again, sipping at his own wine, and waits until the server has departed from the hallway before beckoning for Eggsy and Dean to follow him again. With quick steps, he leads them through a set of doors into what appears to be a vastly spacious library, although there are few books to be seen – instead, the shelves are lined with all sorts of curious trinkets and metallic wonders. Numerous marble pedestals have been placed about the room, displaying fine carvings and sculptures and vases, the total cost of which Eggsy can scarcely begin to imagine. However, Carrios bypasses these without so much as a glance, and instead leads them over to a set of unremarkable-looking bookshelves against the far wall, furthest away from the windows.

The youth looks on in surprise as the merchant pushes hard against the middle shelf and the wall itself seems to collapse backwards. But when Carrios disappears through the gap a moment later, he realises the shelves are in fact a hidden doorway.

“Behold my future fortune,” the merchant says grandly. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Eggsy freezes at the threshold and _stares._

In the centre of the small room ahead of him is a tall pedestal similar to those used for display in the library. But upon _this_ pedestal, supported by an expensive-looking cushion, is an egg. It’s similar in shape to that of a duck egg, but easily twice as large as Eggsy’s head, almost as tall as his forearm is long from elbow to fingertip. And if that wasn’t unusual enough, its mottled bluish-greenish colouring would mark it out as particularly unique.

This isn’t just any egg. It’s a bloody _dragon_ _egg_.

“How old is it?” Dean asks keenly, circling the marble stand and scrutinising the egg closely.

“Fourteen months,” Carrios answers. “Taken, with some difficulty, from its nest in the Shadow Peaks after a full year’s gestation – we’ve found they don’t hatch at all if they’re retrieved any sooner. This one won’t reach maturity for another three months at least, but I’d rather see it transferred elsewhere while we still have ample time on our hands. I take it your employers have found a suitably isolated property in which to raise it? A dragon kept in a cage won’t develop as it ought to, and I won’t have my profits endangered by poor caretaking.”

“What d’you want with a dragon, Sir?” Eggsy asks, finally able to tear his gaze away from the egg, his tone equal parts bemused and dubious. “You gonna sell it to the trainers in the Capital or somethin’?”

Carrios glances towards him briefly, brow creased, but seems to dismiss his question as harmless curiosity and not the growing suspicion that it really is.

“No, lad. I don’t do business so far south. And besides,” here his face twists in an unflattering sneer of distaste, “those so-called Dragon Keepers would think it their rite to take the beast from me without adequate recompense. No, my chief trade will be in scales for armour and décor, bone for weaponry, blood for potions. Every ounce will be worth ten times its weight in gold – thrice that sum if I provide my services with no questions asked. Once the beast is fully grown, your employers and I will be able to live off its bounty quite comfortably indeed.”

Dean raises his goblet with a smirk. “I’ll drink to that.”

Eggsy manages not to let his horror show through sheer force of will, even though his stomach is churning something fierce.

His employers intend to raise a hatchling dragon in isolation, away from its nest and kin, for the sole purpose of _slaughtering_ the creature for profit? Gods above…such an act of heartless murder would be punishable by death in the Capital. Hatchling dragons are so rare this day and age; each is said to be raised with the utmost care and attention by both birthing mother and dragon-keeper, and bonded with an appropriate rider as soon as it’s found its wings. To kill a dragon – a beast born of magic, capable of such loyalty and intelligence – is surely utterly _abhorrent_ in the eyes of any decent human being _._

“We can take it as far as Cardenoth,” Dean says to the merchant. “My associates will send an envoy from the borderlands to meet us there, they’ll transport the egg the rest of the way.” He rubs his chin, brow creasing a little. “Don’t much like the idea of carryin’ it around in a chest, mind you. They’ve starting posting patrols along the river crossings; we can’t run the risk of it bein' discovered if they decide to inspect my cargo.”

Carrios raises a placating hand. “I’ve already thought of that. I had my men construct a hidden compartment in a travel chest, it’s really quite ingenious. Come, I’ll show it to you.”

Dean begins to follow the merchant, glancing back towards Eggsy at the last moment and pointing a finger at him. “Stay here. An’ guard that egg with your life, boy.”

Eggsy manages a quick nod, hands clenched by his sides, and remains stationary right up until the moment the hidden door is closed behind him. Then, in the flickering light of the oil lamp on the shelf nearby, he inches closer to the egg, hand outstretched, as though his whole being is instinctively drawn towards it.

Gods, he can hardly believe it. A _real_ dragon’s egg.

In his youth he’d been adamant that he would one day become a dragon rider like his father before him, but with the birth of his sister and his mother’s persisting ill health, there’d been no opening for him to travel south to pursue that dream. The Capital is so very far from their home village, a full month’s journeying even on horseback, and his mother had vowed never to set foot there again after the death of his father, so relocating them as a family had been out of the question. But it hadn’t stopped Eggsy from wishing and hoping and _wanting,_ almost every moment of every day, for a chance to see one of those marvellous beasts again _._ Ever since he’d first laid eyes on his father’s dragon, he’d been fascinated by the creatures, learning every bit of lore and history and hearsay he could find. Master Lyrus, the town’s chief archiver and his personal tutor, had been a veritable fountain of knowledge, but _hearing_ about dragons only satisfied him so much; ancient scrolls and old tomes were hardly as good as the real thing.

But now here he is, in the very same room as a dragon’s egg. _Gods above._

His breath catches when his fingers make contact with the surface, eyes widening a little. It’s warmer than he’d expected – as though it’s been sitting in the sun all day and not in this dark, cold little room – but utterly smooth to the touch, not roughened like the texture of a chicken’s egg. He strokes his hand over it reverently, and that’s when he feels it – a tiny, almost imperceptible fluttering from beneath the shell.

Eggsy stills, not daring to draw breath as he keeps his hand cupped against the egg, unsure as to whether he’s simply imagining it in all the excitement. But no, there it is again – a quick, rapid sort of pulsation against his palm. He lets out a soft laugh of shocked disbelief, then just as quickly pulls his hand away, stepping back and dragging his fingers through his hair, heart pounding as the grim reality of the situation sets it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, gripping his hair tightly in one clenched fist, gaze locked on the egg. “Fuck no, this ain’t right.”

And just like that, his mind’s made up.

Swinging his satchel down from his shoulders, he drops to his knees quickly, opening the drawstrings and removing several bulky objects. In his months of travelling with Dean and his trading associates, he’s taken to carrying around his belongings wherever he goes (the last time he left them unattended, several items went missing, and it took him drawing his father’s sword before they were returned). The satchel isn’t as large as he’d like it to be, but he’ll make do – his provisions, tinderbox water skins and cloak are stored in JB’s saddlebags, so there’s nothing too essential he’ll have to lose. Just a few assorted gifts he’s collected on his travels for Daisy and his mother.

His spare tunics and breeches he leaves at the bottom of the satchel to provide additional padding, and with all of the trinkets now gone (with the exception of his oilskin pouch containing this month’s wages), there’s just about enough room for the egg.

“Come on,” he murmurs, reaching for the precious cargo. “I’m gettin’ you out of here.”

He lifts it down carefully (good _gods_ , it’s a lot heavier than he’d expected) and places it gently inside, then grabs the pillow from the marble pedestal and tucks it on top in an attempt to disguise the tell-tale curve of the egg. The end result is a rather bulky-looking pack, but it looks less suspicious than an egg-shaped one.

“Don’t run,” he tells himself under his breath, swinging the leather straps of the satchel over his shoulders and forcing himself to leave the hidden room at a calm, sedate pace. “You’ve got this.”

Heart in his throat and blood pulsing loudly in his ears, he heads out through the library and down the hallway towards the front entrance. He can hear Dean’s voice from another room, the man’s booming laughter echoing down the corridor, and it makes Eggsy’s pace quicken by a fraction.

“Leaving so soon, lad?”

Oh gods, the _guard._ In his determination to flee the house, he’d quite forgotten about the armed sentinel that’s blocking his one and only exit.

“Master Carrios has sent me to fetch the cart,” he answers, in a voice that by some small miracle doesn’t waver.  “He says the chest’s too heavy to carry on my own.”

The man observes him a few painful seconds longer, then nods and stands aside. “On your way.”

Eggsy doesn’t need to be told twice.

The marketplace seems even busier than before, and Eggsy moves gingerly between the throng of chattering buyers, hands clenched tightly around the straps of his satchel, trying to walk as quickly as he can without drawing attention to himself. He’s certain he hasn’t quite managed to mask the panic still welling in his chest, but he keeps his head ducked down and avoids eye contact as much as possible, and nobody seems to take much notice of him.

It feels like an age before his feet finally lead him out of the bustling marketplace and towards the tavern at the crossroads where their horses are stabled. There’s a small, fenced-in meadow just beyond it, and even from a distance Eggsy can make out JB’s glossy bay coat, the horse grazing contentedly on the lush grass there. The other hired hands haven’t even bothered to unsaddle him, but for the first time in several months, Eggsy is grateful for their persisting idleness. It’ll make his escape that much easier.

He strides towards the meadow at a brisk, determined pace, keeping his gaze centred on JB, not allowing himself to glance over to the benches outside the tavern where the other ‘hands are seated with tankards of ale. If he can just get mounted before one of them sees him…

“Oi, mugsy!” Bill yells over the raucous of the tavern, and the youth flinches at the call but doesn’t slow his pace. “Where’s Dean? Thought you two were supposed to be bringin’ back somethin’ important?”

_Fuck._

Lifting his thumb and index finger to his lips, he whistles shrilly. All the horses in their convoy look up sharply at the sound (in addition to his other duties, Eggsy has been their chief caretaker for some time now, and they know to respond to him). JB stops grazing immediately and comes over to him at a trot, soft nose bumping up against Eggsy’s outstretched palm as he nickers in greeting.

“We’re leavin’,” Eggsy murmurs, quickly testing and tightening the saddle strap and girth, sending a quick glance towards his colleagues over by the tavern. Bill and several others are on their feet now, watching him with open suspicion.

Realising that his luck has officially run out, he swings himself up into the saddle, muscles aching with the strain it takes to heave himself onto JB with the egg adding so much extra weight to him.

“Unwin!” comes a distant, booming yell from an all too familiar voice. “You bloody thief!”

Dean bursts out from the thinning crowd at the entrance to the marketplace, red-faced and breathing hard, eyes landing on Eggsy within seconds as the youth fumbles to set his feet in the stirrups. His step-father points a meaty finger at him, his face thunderous.

“You just get down from there, boy, or I’ll have your guts for garters!” he threatens, storming across the dirt road towards the tavern.

Eggsy can see Dean’s associates advancing towards him, and raises thumb and forefinger to his mouth again to let off a second, louder whistle.

“Hyah!” he calls, urging JB into a canter, the rest of the party’s horses following suit behind him.

Charging directly towards Dean and Bill and the others, who have moved to block his path, he sends up a desperate prayer to the gods that his escape won’t be so pitifully short-lived.

The horses have gathered speed now, and his step-father’s ugly sneer falters as the beasts near them. Bill and the others wisely scatter, diving out of the way in order to avoid being trampled by the stampede, but Dean stands his ground until the very last moment when, jumping to one side with an angered cry, he narrowly avoids being ploughed down by JB. _Pity._

Eggsy gives a delighted, whooping laugh, steering JB onto the main road and urging the beast into a full-on gallop towards the bridge, a small host of horses following behind him. Within moments, they’re across the river and leaving the city behind them, fields and farmlands stretching on ahead as far as the eye can see. His step-father won’t easily be able to follow him now, not on foot.

By some miracle, he’s still alive, and the egg is safe (at least for the time being). Now he just has to safely transport it to the far side of the Kingdom without getting accosted by bandits or arrested for smuggling. The town of Boarsmoth is only half a day’s ride away, if he maintains a steady pace. He’ll sell the horses to the first decent tradesman he comes across; at least that way he’ll have enough coin to buy provisions for the journey ahead, and temporary lodgings in the Capital (if and when he gets there).

After what he’s done today, Eggsy knows he won’t ever be able to return home. His only remaining option is to make a new home for himself someplace far away from Dean and his associates, and then send for his mother and sister once everything is settled.

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

“You wish to send a missive to _whom_?” the elderly archiver queries, the wrinkles in his brow deepening.

“Master Lyrus,” Eggsy repeats, trying not to let frustration creep into his tone. “He’s the chief archiver in Gaelford, I served under him for a time. He knows me, Sir.”

The ancient master eyes Eggsy’s travel clothes doubtfully, gaze linger on the hilt of his father’s sword that peeks up over his shoulder. “I’m afraid I’m far too busy to scribe letters for strangers, young man. Come back another day.”

“You don’t have to write anything, Master Jorryn,” the youth insists, pulling the tiny roll of yellow parchment from within his tunic, holding it out to the archiver. He’d bought the writing materials a couple of days ago when he’d stopped off at a village to replenish his dwindling food supplies. “It’s already written. I just need a raven who knows how to find the library in Gaelford. Please, it’s important.”

Jorryn peers at the youth with a new sort of curiosity, but doesn’t take the letter from him. “Are you a scribe, lad?”

“Yes. Or at least I was.” He glances quickly towards the doorway, to where he can see JB shifting impatiently from hoof to hoof outside in the shadowy courtyard. “Look, Sir, I know it’s late. If I could, I’d come back tomorrow, but I’m hopin’ to be on my way before then.”

The archiver reaches out slowly to take the roll of parchment. “I’m not in the habit of sending missives that I haven’t scribed myself. These are troubling times – the King’s enemies hide in plain sight and send secrets in riddles, or so the rumours say.”

_Oh, for the love of all that’s blessed…_

“Read it if you like,” he urges. “I’ve got nothin’ to hide. I just need Lyrus to pass on a message to my mother. She’ll be expectin’ me home by the end of the week, an’ I…I won’t actually be goin’ back. Ever.” He swallows hard when his throat threatens to close in grief. He’s cried enough these past two nights already. _No more._ “I just want to say goodbye to her. Please.”

Master Jorryn stares at him a moment longer. Then he unrolls the tiny scroll, scans the contents of the parchment briefly, and rolls it back up again with a nod. “Everything seems to be in order. I’ll dispatch a raven for Gaelford at first light.”

Eggsy almost sags in relief. Mustering up a grateful smile, he bows deeply, clenched fist pressed to his heart in a show of respect.

“Wisdom and good health to you, Master.”

“And to you, lad.” The archiver raises a hand in farewell. “May the gods grant you a swift journey.”

_Bloody hope so._

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

The fire’s already burned low, nought but glowing embers and charred wood, but the late summer evening is warm enough that he doesn’t need to go foraging for more kindling now that the rabbit’s done cooking.

“An’ that one’s called Seleria, the Great Mother,” he says with his mouth half-full, pointing towards the twinkling constellation in the clear night sky above them. “See how she shines brighter than all those little ones surroundin’ her? Those are her children.”

Nestled up in the satchel beneath his arm, the dragon’s egg gives no answer. But Eggsy is undeterred. It feels _right,_ somehow, to converse with it like this; to caress the smooth, bluish-green shell over and over until he feels the familiar fluttering pulse from within.

“I used to know all their names, once,” he admits, shifting to support his head and shoulders a little better on the fancy cushion he’d swiped from Carrios. “Lyrus would sometimes take me up onto the roof of the Scholar’s Hall and make me recite them. Used to give me a sugarplum if I managed to do it without makin’ a mistake.”

He smiles to himself, the fingers of his right hand swirling gentle patterns over the egg. “When we reach the Capital, maybe I’ll ask one of their archivers for a map of the stars. I don’t remember much about the place, but I know their library’s _huge._ ”

That’s  _if_ they ever reach the Capital. They’ve been on the road two weeks now, and he feels as though he’s barely made any progress at all. That’s due largely to the fact that he hasn’t actually been able to _use_ the roads joining each of the northern villages together – Dean hadn’t been lying about the extra patrols. After almost getting stopped and searched twice during his first few days of travelling, he’s been forced to deviate from the straightest and easiest path, adding several more weeks to his journey in doing so.

He sighs and rolls onto his side, legs tucked up and arms wrapping themselves around the satchel, a gentle palm resting against the egg.

“No matter what happens, I’ll get you home safe,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

_He clenches his hands tightly in the fabric of the rider’s trouser-leg, face buried in the man’s hip._

_“Don’t be frightened, Eggsy,” his father soothes, a large hand settling on the boy’s head. “Laenya won’t hurt you, she’s only curious.”_

_A hot gust of air blasts against his side. Slowly, cautiously, Eggsy peeks out from the safety of his father’s tunic, eyes going wide at the large, scaly head not two feet away from him._

_“See, lad?” The hand in his hair strokes down to squeeze his shoulder. “She only wants to say hello.”_

_Now as curious as he is frightened, Eggsy tentatively reaches out towards the dragon, palm facing outwards and fingers slightly curled, as he’s seen the other Keepers do. He gasps when Laenya surges forward, but rather than chomping off his hand in one bite, she bumps the curve of her red-scaled snout against Eggsy’s palm and blasts him with another breath of hot air._

_The boy grins. “Hello.”_

_Laenya makes a deep, chittering sort of rumble from within her chest and nudges Eggsy’s hand up and out of the way so that she can bump up against his chest instead. The lad giggles, the hot air from her nostrils tickling his neck, small palms coming up to settle either side of her large head._

_“I’m so sorry, Eggsy.”_

_He blinks, glancing up sharply at the tall man in front of him, the flickering light of the pyre in the centre of the expansive courtyard casting shadows over his features. Eggsy hugs his father’s sword closer to his chest, throat tight and achy, stomach all knotted. He knows Sir Galahad is a friend of his father’s – the Keeper’s come over for supper a few times, and he’s always been nice to Eggsy – but the man who stands before Eggsy now doesn’t look anything like him. He looks old and sad and tired, and it’s all so very wrong on the rider’s young face._

_“But what about Laenya?” he asks in a small voice. “Who’s going to look after her?”_

_Galahad’s expression looks pained for a long moment, before he sinks down to his knees in front of Eggsy, a large gloved hand coming to rest on the boy’s head._

_“She was bonded to your father, lad,” he explains gently. “When Lee fell, a part of Laenya was lost too. She’s a wild dragon now.”_

_Eggsy shakes his head, tears coming to his eyes. “No. She’s not wild! She’s gentle!”_

_“Lord Hart.” A hand settles on Eggsy’s shoulder, and he leans back into his mother gratefully, scrubbing the tears from his eyes._

_Galahad rises gracefully to his feet, clenched fist pressed against his heart as he dips his head. “Lady Unwin. My deepest condolences for your loss.” He pauses a moment, then continues, “Michelle, if there’s anything I can do to help your family, anything at all-”_

_“Thank you,” she interrupts, the hand on Eggsy’s shoulder tightening its grip. “But my son and I need no further assistance from the Capital.” Her fingers relinquish their hold to instead comb through his hair. “Come, my love. It’s time for bed.”_

_They turn away from the burning pyre, heading out of the courtyard and through the gardens towards where the footman is waiting with the carriage. Eggsy keeps both arms wrapped tightly around his father’s sword, determined not to let it fall, and lets the footman lift him up to sit in the back of the carriage beside his mother._

_She draws him in to lean against her side, one arm wrapped securely around him to hold him close. He shifts, blinking sleepily, to lay down across the seat of the carriage, resting his head in his mother’s lap._

_“Mama?”_

_Her fingers card gently through his hair. “Mm?”_

_“What’s goin’ to happen to us now?”_

_Michelle is quiet for a long moment, and when she speaks, her voice sound strange and distant. “We’re going to find a new city to live in, my love,” she tells him. “Somewhere far away from here.”_

_Eggsy feels a nervous, pulsing sort of sensation awaken in his chest. And as the carriage rumbles noisily around him as it carries them further and further away from his father’s pyre, the fluttering grows stronger and more persistent, and there’s a hollow tapping sound coming from inside his chest, like there’s something inside trying to break its way free. And it’s hot, ow, ow, it’s burning his skin-_

**_-Crack-_ **

 

Startling awake with a gasp, Eggsy uncurls himself from around the egg and sits bolt-upright, breathing hard, a hand pressed to his sternum where the pulsating flutter had been so intense only moments before. Finding the front of his tunic damp with something warm and sticky, he glances down at his fingers, just able to make them out in the faint light of the coming dawn. There’s a thick, bloodstained sort of mucus clinging to his skin, and he pulls a disgusted face at it, groggy mind perplexed as to where it could have come from.

_Crack._

Jumping at the sound, he shoots a startled glance towards the egg lying less than a foot away, lungs seizing up and lips parting in a silent gasp at the sight of a sizeable _hole_ in the coloured shell.

“Oh gods,” he breathes, heart jumping up to swell in his throat. “Oh gods, oh _gods,_  it's happening.”

As though spurred on by his voice, a tiny scaled snout pokes through the gap in the shell, dripping more of the bloodstained mucus onto the ground. Eggsy leans in closer, hands cupping either side of the egg, sucking in a gasp at how _hot_ the thing is.

“Come on,” he encourages softly, as three tiny claws curve around the broken edge of the shell. “That’s it, you’ve got this.”

The crack widens, a jagged line all the way down one side of the egg, and the segment shifts outwards by half an inch, bloodstained fluid leaking out to pool in the dirt as the baby dragon pushes from inside. Grinning, Eggsy watches enraptured as the small creature fights to free itself; it takes every last measure of self-restraint to keep his hands to himself and not pull away the segments of cracked shell to speed up the process. He has enough common sense to know that this is something the little dragon must accomplish on his own.

It seems to take an age, the dawn already breaking on the horizon by the time the large front section of shell breaks off from the main body of the egg and falls to the ground. A sticky, mucus-covered form uncurls from within, tumbling out onto the ground in a pool of shiny slick.

“You did it!” Eggsy crows, elated, grinning so hard it makes his cheeks ache.

He’s already pulling off his tunic, using it to scoop up the sticky baby dragon, cradling it in his arms as he would a human babe. He gently rubs the sleeve of his tunic over the creature’s head, which is no bigger than the palm of his hand, cleaning away the translucent gloop clinging to it, breath catching in his throat when two sets of eyelids blink open to stare up at him, cat-like black slits set within a burning amber.

Warmth swells beneath his breastbone as the dragon holds his gaze, and Eggsy feels his own eyes grow damp as he smiles down at the creature.

“Nice of you to join me.” He wipes some of the sticky stuff from the dragon’s neck. “A bit earlier than expected, mind, but that’s alright. _Gods,_ just look at you. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

The dragon’s scales, which he’d previously thought were black beneath the mucus sack, are actually a deep shade of green, dark as Aventurine gemstone across its neck and flank, but lighter around the creature’s eyes and on its underside.

He finishes cleaning up the hatchling, who’s as quiet and compliant as can be during the process, right up until the moment Eggsy tries to set it down on the ground. Its smooth, lizard-like tale begins whipping the air as it spreads its wings, clawed forelegs scrabbling in the air as it lets out a croaky, warbling sort of screech of distress.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” Eggsy quickly draws the little dragon in close again. “None of that now, titbit.”

The hatchling settles immediately, snout nudging up against Eggsy’s collarbone, puffing hot little breaths of air against his throat. He smiles fondly, recalling his father’s dragon having done the same thing at their first meeting; it’s been so long since he last dreamed about _Laenya_ and the events of his father’s death with such perfect clarity. He wonders if the birth of the scaly bundle in his arms has anything to do with it – dragons are a living, breathing form of magic in and of themselves, perhaps having the egg in such close proximity to him on the night of its hatching had transferred enough of that magic to fully awaken those memories from his childhood.

Soon enough the dragon grows curious of its surroundings, uncurling from within Eggsy’s hold to peer over his arm towards the broken egg shell nearby, snout raised and nostrils twitching as he scents the air.

“You wanna get down?” Eggsy murmurs, slowly lowering the dragon to the dirt, ready to pull it back should it start to panic again. The dragon gives a couple of short, throaty warbles but doesn’t protest when it’s set down on the ground. “There you go. Not so bad, is it?”

The hatchling inches forwards on short, unsteady legs, snout pressed close to the ground, and Eggsy smiles as he watches, reaching for his pack nearby to pull out his spare tunic.

“Hope you’re still gonna fit in here when you’re not all curled up,” he muses aloud, glancing from the pack to the dragon, eyeing its long tale and folded wings. “It’s gonna take us another month to reach the Capital, an’ I’m bettin’ you’ll have done some growin’ by the time we get there. Gods.” He runs a sticky hand through his hair. “What am I gonna _feed_ you? Don’t think you’ll fancy bread an’ cheese an’ salted meat.”

The dragon’s circled its broken egg several times now, sniffing at it, and as Eggsy watches on, the hatchling begins to lap up the thick fluid sitting cupped in the bottom of the shell like a bowl of soup.

“Huh.” Eggsy tilts his head to one side, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I guess you’ve got that covered for now.”

Happy that the hatchling is suitably distracted by its meal, Eggsy glances about for JB, remembering his horse for the first time since waking. Feeling a pulse of alarm when he finds the clearing empty, he whistles sharply.

“JB?” There’s a disgruntled sounding snort from behind a row of trees over to his left, and Eggsy makes out his horse’s bay coat between the boughs. “Oi. What are you doin’ back there?”

The horse’s head emerges from behind the cover of a leafy branch, ears twitching back as he watches the dragon nervously.

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Eggsy laughs, standing up and crossing over to the treeline. He strokes a hand down JB’s nose, the horse snuffling curiously at his sticky fingers. “It’s only a babe, you numpty. It can’t hurt you.” He steps away and gestures for the horse to follow. “Come on.”

JB lingers for a moment, ears still pressed back, before slowly emerging from his hiding spot, following behind Eggsy at a cautious distance.

The dragon, meanwhile, has finished cleaning the remaining fluid from the egg shell and is sniffing around Eggsy’s pillow and satchel frantically, tale swishing in apparent agitation. It glances up in time to see JB headed towards it and gives a high-pitched, croaky shriek of terror, waddling over to Eggsy as fast as its little legs can carry it.

“It’s alright, titbit,” Eggsy soothes, dropping down into a crouch with the intention of stroking a reassuring hand over the dragon’s neck.

The hatchling has other ideas; clumsily scrambling up into Eggsy’s lap, it attempts to bury its snout in his tunic. The human sighs in amused exasperation, scooping the beast up into his arms.

“He ain’t scary, honest,” he tells the dragon as he stands. “Totally off his head, sure, but that’s why the farmer called him 'Just Bonkers'. He won’t hurt you, I promis. An’ JB,” he turns the horse, who’s now eyeing the trembling ball of scales with more curiosity than fear, “be gentle, yeah?”

JB leans in to sniff the hatchling, who trembles harder and lets out an aggrieved little hiss, like a cornered snake.

“Oi.” Eggsy lightly cups his hand over the dragon’s snout. “None o’ that. You’re stuck with him for a month, an’ I can’t have you two fightin’ all the time.”

The hatchling gives a little chirping warble, head tilted to one side, and peers up at him as though enraptured. Eggsy smiles, a pulse of affection filling his chest with warmth as he strokes his fingers over the creature’s smooth scales.

“You’re too bloody adorable,” he gripes softly. “I’m gonna let you get away with murder.” Then, rethinking his phrasing and paling at the thought, he quickly amends, “Didn’t mean that. Definitely didn’t mean that. Please don’t kill anyone.”

Oh _gods._ How the hell is he supposed to raise a dragon?

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

The hatchling sleeps fairly solidly for the next two days, waking only for brief periods to sniff at his surroundings curiously and drink water from the palm of Eggsy’s hand. It had nibbled at the morsel of uncooked rabbit Eggsy had offered it before spitting it back out again, and hasn’t shown any interest in cooked food or the dwindling supply of dried provisions in the saddlebags.

By day three, Eggsy is growing worried.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll never grow up big an’ strong like the other dragons,” he says, peering down at the hatchling where it’s nestled inside Eggsy’s pack. He’d tried wearing the satchel on his back the first day, but when it became clear the hatchling wasn’t going to stop crying until Eggsy was made visible at all times, he’d switched to wearing it on his front like an apron instead. “Aren’t you hungry, love?”

The dragon gives a throaty little chirp, blinking up at him adorably. Eggsy sighs.

“Maybe that stuff in the egg filled you up,” he muses, clucking the hatchling beneath the chin, smiling when it immediately tries to nestle its head into his palm for further petting. “Master Lyrus always said dragons could hibernate for years without eatin’, so maybe you don’t need food as often as we do, even if you’re still just a babe.”

Beneath him, JB slows to a halt, head turned away from the path. Eggsy finally tears his gaze away from his dragon, reaching down to stroke the horse’s neck. “JB? What is it?”

The horse sets off again at a fast walk through the trees, and Eggsy makes a startled sound, reaching for the reins (which he’s tied off around the pommel of the saddle, because JB rarely needs more prompting than a nudge of Eggsy’s calf to steer him). But then he hears it – the distant sound of rushing water, growing louder with every step.

Grinning, he gives the horse’s neck a firm pat. “Good boy.”

His water skins are almost empty, it’ll be a relief to see them filled again – according to the map in his saddlebag, it’s a two-day ride to the next village, and he hadn't been looking forward to rationing his water intake until then.

Riding on, they come across a wide waterfall with a huge plunge pool. Grinning, Eggsy swings himself down from the saddle with care, one arm curled around his pack protectively, and begins removing the tack to allow JB to cool off. The horse does a full-body shake and lets out a delighted whinny, trotting off towards the luscious green grass that covers the embankment of the slow-flowring stream that stems from the pool.

Smiling, Eggsy sets his pack down carefully by the saddlebags, checking first to make sure the hatchling curled up inside is still fast asleep, and arches his back to ease out the kinks and knots from a long day’s ride.

“Think we’ll make camp here for the night,” he says to JB, kicking off his boots and socks and wading into the shallows of the plunge pool where the water’s only ankle-deep, muscles tensing at the frigid temperature. “Fuck, that’s cold.”

He refills both water skins and drinks deeply from his cupped hands, filling his stomach so that his meagre dinner of cheese and dried meat won’t leave him so hungry.

Hearing a warbling chirp from behind him, he turns to find the baby dragon at the edge of the pool, cautiously dipping its front feet into the water. Nostrils twitching as it watches its own reflection, the creature lowers its head to the water, then abruptly shoves its whole snout into the pool.

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s cold,” Eggsy agrees with a laugh, as the hatchling rears back to the shore with an affronted snort.

Tumbling back to sit on its rear legs, the dragon peers towards its human caretaker, mouth opening to release the high, pulsing trill of a needy cry, one that Eggsy has quickly come to interpret as _“pick me up, I’m scared”._ The youth sighs fondly, crouching down in the shallows and holding out a hand towards the creature.

“It’s only water,” he reassures, cupping some in the palm of his hand. “See? I know it looks a bit scary, but it won’t hurt you. Come on, c’mere.”

Cautiously, the hatchling inches into the water one foot at a time, stopping when it reaches Eggsy’s hand and taking a moment to lap the liquid from his palm, butting his snout against the human’s fingers when he’s done drinking in an indication that he wants more.

“You’re literally sittin’ in it, love’,” Eggsy sighs, but obligingly dips his hand into the water to cup another palmful for the hatchling, who gives a pleased chirp and drinks that down too.

Eventually the dragon’s thirst is quenched, and it wades back to shore to sniff around the bushes and rocks as Eggsy goes to the saddlebags and retrieves his stained clothes (now stiff with the dried gloop from titbit’s egg). Stripping out of his breeches and tunic, he wades back into the pool, keen to get everything washed before he reaches the next village and has to actually interact with other people. From his experience, traders are more willing to barter for the price of their goods when you aren't wearing the sweat of a long week's travelling. 

By the time he’s scrubbed the garments with a course rock from the pool and draped them over a sun-warmed boulder to dry, the hatchling’s wandered back into the shallows, its previous nervousness apparently forgotten.

“Not so bad after all, is it?” He leans down to stroke a hand over the dragon’s neck as he moves back to shore and heads over to the saddlebags to pull out his spare pair of breeches.

The dragon gives a sudden, startled screech, thrashing in the water, and Eggsy turns around so sharply he feels something twinge in his side.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, jogging over to scoop the frightened hatchling into his arms as it stumbles out of the pool, hissing and swishing its tail. “Shh. What’s the matter?” Something silvery in the water catches his eye for a split second, and he relaxes immediately. “Gods, you don’t half frighten easy. It’s only a dapple-fish, titbit. Those won’t hurt you, neither. In fact…”

He glances down at the dragon, who peers back at him adoringly, water glistening off its dark green scales.

“You didn’t much like rabbit,” he muses. “Maybe you’ll take a fancy to fish.”

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

“Still hungry?”

The hatchling’s practically picked the bone clean on its second fish, and is back to butting up against Eggsy’s side in a silent application for more.

“Gods help me if you grow much bigger,” the youth mutters, taking a bite out of his own cooked fish before passing the last raw one to the dragon. “I won’t be able to catch enough to feed you, at this rate.”

Eggsy's been following the same river for five days now, relieved to have found a food source that his little companion is willing to eat. He’s getting a bit sick of the taste of fish himself, but at least he’s going to bed on a full stomach now. There’s enough grain bread and hard cheese and preserved meats in his bulging saddlebags to last him a good week or more, but he’s not keen to use up those stores unless he really needs to – not after the disaster of his most recent trip to the village market.

It had all gone according to plan at first; he’d coaxed his companion into eating as much fish as the dragon could stomach, and when the well-fed hatchling had sunk into an exhausted slumber in his sack, he’d closed the drawstrings and snuck into the nearby village to gather some supplies. He’d bought all the necessary provisions within minutes of arriving at the market, and had struck up conversation with various tradesmen to enquire about the safest route to the Capital.

But then he’d passed the fish stall, and his sleeping companion had come to life. To say the hatchling had been unhappy to find himself unable to climb out of the satchel was an understatement – the little terror had fucking _screamed._

And so Eggsy, panic-stricken at the thought of the baby dragon being discovered and stolen by ill-intending folk, had begun screaming himself in an effort to disguise the sound. The end result being that he’d fled the village at a flat-out sprint, screaming like a loon, and had likely left quite an impression on the folk who lived there. It wasn’t an experience Eggsy was keen on repeating.

Tossing the bones from their shared meal into the low-burning fire, he settles back against the saddlebags with the red cushion he’d swiped from Carrios tucked behind his head, and extends an arm towards the dragon, patting the empty sack beside him.

“Come on, titbit. Time to get some sleep.”

The dragon finishes cleaning off its front claws and comes waddling over obediently, but bypasses the satchel in favour of curling up against Eggsy’s side, half on top of him.

“Not wantin’ your sack tonight?” the youth asks softly, stroking his hand over the smooth scales. The dragon gives a low, chittering sort of purr that Eggsy’s grown to associate with contentedness, burrowing closer. He smiles, hand coming to rest on the hatchling’s neck. “Mm, thought so.”

Peering down at his companion as the scaled lids droop over amber eyes, he gives a sleepy, affectionate smile.

“You’re gettin’ so big,” he murmurs. “Won’t fit in the pack soon enough. Guess I’ll have to stop calling you ‘titbit’, won't I?" The hatchling yawns adorably and nestles in closer. "But then what _can_ I call you? Ain’t it supposed to be a big deal, namin’ a dragon? S’almost like namin’ a person really, an’ Mum spent months thinkin’ of one for Daisy. I think she regretted namin’ me Gareth after her father; s’why she’s always called me Eggsy. Gareth’s too stuffy, anyway – makes me sound right stuck up.”

He strokes his fingers idly over the hardening ridges along the dragon’s spine. With every passing day, they grow more pronounced, as does the tiny wing-flap at the end of its tail that’ll one day be used to help it dive mid-flight, the way birds of prey might do.

“I don’t wanna name you somethin’ if you’re gonna get attached to it,” he admits, as the sleepy dragon scoots further onto his chest to tuck its snout beneath the collar of Eggsy’s tunic. “An’ besides, I’m bettin’ the Keepers in the Capital will want to give you a proper name, somethin’ worthy of a dragon. Hell, I don’t even know what species you are, or if you’re even s’posed to be eatin’ fish.” He sighs and drags his free hand down his face. “I’ve no idea what I’m doin’ with you. But at least you’re happy, yeah?”

The hatchling nuzzles at his throat and Eggsy smiles up at the night sky, closing his arms around the creature in a gentle embrace as warmth swells in his chest, fanning outwards through the rest of his body in a tingling wave as he heaves a blissful sigh.

 _“Icco’aloraeth,”_ he murmurs, in a tongue wholly unfamiliar to him. But the word has an immediate effect on the hatchling, whose head comes up sharply, eyes peering at him with an intensity he hasn’t seen since its birth. “What was that I just said? Was…was that your name?”

The dragon gives a trilling, excited warble and leans in close until they’re nose-to-snout. Eggsy strokes a faintly trembling hand over the hatchling’s flank.

“How do I even know that word?” he breathes in wonderment. It’s burned into his mind like an old, familiar memory, but he’s absolutely certain he’s never come across it before. “ _Icco’aloraeth._ Is that in the Old Tongue?”

Giving a soft, pulsating chitter, the dragon rubs its head against Eggsy’s face, wings folding and extending over and over in apparent excitement. The human laughs softly, fondly, and tilts his head to return the hatchling’s nuzzle.

“Well, it’s a beautiful name, love’,” he murmurs. “You mind if I shorten it to somethin’ a bit easier to say?” The dragon sits back on its haunches in the centre of Eggsy’s chest, head tilted to the side as though considering the human. “How about the first half of your name? Um, _Icco,_ or somethin'? Echo?”

The dragon gives a single, cheerful chirp and surges forward to bump its head against Eggsy’s brow.

“You like that?” he asks, grinning. “Yeah. Me to.”

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

 

Bare feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his chest, Eggsy peers up into the branches of the towering oak with a foreboding expression.

“Echo! You get down from there _right this instant!”_

The dragon’s dark green scales glint in the orange glow of the setting sun as it watches Eggsy from the high branch on which it’s perched, leather boot held between its teeth.

“I ain’t messin’ around,” Eggsy warns. “I’ll come up an’ fetch you if I have to.” He snaps his fingers and points to the ground at his feet. “Come here. Right now.”

The hatchling hesitates only a moment longer before leaping out of the tree, wings extending to slow its descent before folding back close to its body as it touches down a few feet away from Eggsy. Padding closer, Echo carefully deposits the stolen boot at Eggsy’s feet, dropping back to sit on its hind legs and looking up at him with a tellingly sheepish expression.

“Don’t go givin’ me that look,” Eggsy chides, sitting down on the bough of a nearby fallen tree so that he can pull on his socks and boots. “You know you ain’t supposed to go climbin’ stuff unless it's dark. What if someone sees you? We’re _this_ close to the Capital, don’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble right at the last leg.””

Echo gives a deep, rumbling chitter of apology, head hanging low, amber eyes peering up at Eggsy guiltily, and _fuck,_ the little devil knows exactly how to win him over.

With a sigh, he opens his arms. “Alright. C’mere.” Grunting when Echo promptly crawls into his lap, he obligingly wraps his arms around the beast. “Gods, you’re gettin’ heavy.”

He’d blame it on the amount of fish Echo’s been consuming these past four weeks, but if anything the dragon’s actually lost some of the chubbiness from around its neck and flank area, instead growing taller and longer with every passing day. Walking on all fours, the dragon easily comes up to his hip now, tall as a full-grown wolfhound, whereas he’d barely been knee-high less than a month ago. Unfortunately, the hatchling has no concept of its additional weight and size – Eggsy still gets accosted frequently for cuddles, flattened beneath the dragon’s enthusiastic affection at every turn. Not that he minds it overmuch, bruises aside.

But perhaps the biggest problem these past two weeks is that the dragon has at last discovered the function of its wings. While its tail hasn’t developed enough to allow for extended flight, Echo can now gain enough momentum when running to launch into the air and soar up onto high ledges or tree branches. After realising that doing so often resulted in Eggsy’s undivided attention (because a fall from that height, magical creature or no, would doubtless result in injury), it has fast become Echo’s favourite game.

Yawning, Eggsy gives the dragon a gentle shove. “Come on, it’s almost sunset. We’d best make tracks. Where’s that daft horse of mine run off to?”

Echo’s been a terrible influence on JB, who seems to have rediscovered his long-forgotten youthful exuberance and is truly living up to the name ‘Just Bonkers’. It hasn’t helped that with Echo having grown too large to ride in the sack a good three weeks ago, Eggsy’s chosen to walk beside his horse more often than not to keep closer tabs on the dragon, and consequently JB’s fallen into his old bad habit of wandering off at frequent intervals.

With one hand resting on Echo’s sleek neck, Eggsy sets off through the woodland towards the main path. They’ve been travelling mostly by night since the dragon's first growth spurt, keeping off the road but walking almost parallel to it in an attempt to take a more direct route towards the Capital. While the thought of eventually being separated from his companion leaves a hollow ache in Eggsy’s chest, he knows that the longer he puts it off, the larger Echo will grow, and the harder it will be to get him safely to the Keepers without being targeted by bandits. Besides, it’s not like he can go back home anytime soon – he’ll be living in the Capital for some time, and even if he can’t be with Echo all hours of the day, they’ll still be able to see each other. At least…at least he hopes so.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Echo gives a nervous little trill at the unfamiliar voice, tail whipping against the leafy ground underfoot. Eggsy hushes the sound quickly, dropping down into a crouch with his hand cupped over the dragon’s snout.

“We know you’re there!” the stranger insists imperiously. “We have your horse! Why don’t you come on out and greet us?”

Eggsy reaches back to reassure himself that his father’s sword is still there, then presses down gently on Echo’s snout. “Stay low,” he whispers, grateful that he took the time to train the dragon to obey basic commands a couple of weeks ago. “Wait for me.”

Echo knows not to give a verbal response to the command, but nudges up against Eggsy’s palm briefly before pressing flat to the ground.

Straightening, Eggsy squares his shoulders and sets off down the gentle wooded slope towards the main road, pausing behind the cover of a gnarly bough when he spots the assembled group not fifteen feet ahead of him.

There are four in total, three male and one female, all dressed in some sort of uniform – brown breeches and grey tunics with an insignia stitched into the back. Eggsy doesn’t recognise it, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot – he hasn’t been this close to the Capital since he was eight years old, and his memories of the time he spent there are fuzzy at best. Still, the group clearly aren’t bandits, so at least there’s that.

JB’s with them, happily munching on something that the female member of the group is feeding to him, ears pricked forward happily at the attention he’s receiving.

Ooh, that _traitor._ Eggsy’s gonna give him a right earful when all this is over.

All four seem fairly young for guardsmen – surely no older than Eggsy himself, or if so, only by a few summers. That doesn’t bode well for the outcome – in his experience, untrained patrols tend to be far harder to deal with.

“We’re growing impatient,” one of the men calls, and actually puts his hands on his hips. _Gods._ Eggsy dislikes him already.

Taking a steeling breath, he steps out from behind the treeline and onto the road. “Alright, alright, hold your horses.” He affects a casual stance, arms crossed over his chest. “Or hold _my_ horse, by the looks of it. You mind givin’ him back?”

The tallest of the three men steps forward. He’s well put-together, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, with thick brown hair and a face that Eggsy might find attractive were it not for the clearly-forced smile mucking it up.

“It’s rare that we come across lone travellers so late in the day,” the man says. “Where are you headed, friend?”

Eggsy’s worked under Dean long enough not to buy into the stranger’s faux-casual tone.  

“To the Capital," he answers warily. "An' soon as I've got my horse back, I'll be on my way."

The man's fake smile widens. “Then you’re in luck; my companions and I are due to return there shortly.” He steps forward and offers Eggsy his hand. “I’m Charlie. This is Digby, Rufus, and Roxanne. Why don’t you allow us the honour of escorting you the rest of the way?”

After clasping Charlie’s forearm in as brief a hold as curtesy will allow, Eggsy steps back again. “That’s kind of you. But I’d rather travel alone.”

“And why is that?” The younger, stockier-looking of the three men is watching him with open suspicion. “Wouldn’t you prefer safety in numbers?”

Eggsy’s hands clench into fists at his sides, but he forces them to uncurl again. “I’d prefer you all to mind your own business, ta.”

The man makes as though to move towards him and Eggsy tenses automatically, but Charlie holds out his arm to still the younger guard in his path.

“Come now, Rufus. The lad has a right to travel as he pleases; if he values his solitude, we should respect that.” Charlie’s smile shows nought but friendly politeness now, and it puts him on edge. “I don’t suppose you’d mind us taking a look inside those saddlebags first?”

“Think I would, as a matter of fact.” Eggsy flashes him a tight smile. “Been mugged by fake patrol guards more often than I’d care to admit. I’m sure you understand.”

“We aren’t impostors,” the sandy-haired man to his right insists, affronted, fingers twitching where they’re curled around the hilt of his sword. “We’ve been posted here to safeguard the Capital against spies and informants. If you’ve travelled south down the main road, a message might have been slipped into your bags without you even knowing it.”

“Digby’s right,” Charlie agrees, his serene, controlled smile beginning to irk on Eggsy’s nerves. “Often innocent travellers are used as a means to smuggle messages to and from the enemy. These are dark times we live in.”

“Dark times indeed,” Eggsy acknowledges, “when four strangers go an’ steal a man’s horse while he’s takin’ a piss in the woods, an’ accuse him of bein’ a traitor to the crown on no evidence but their own suspicious paranoia. Where’s the justice in that?”

“You speak truly,” the woman, Roxanne, acknowledges, stepping away from where she’s been petting JB. “And I understand your frustration, Sir, but the order has been given by the High Keeper to question every traveller unknown to us along this road, and conduct a search if the answers are not to our satisfaction. You have my word that your property will be neither damaged nor confiscated unless it poses a threat to the Capital.”

Thinking of the shards of green-blue dragon egg safely tucked away beneath his travel cloak, Eggsy’s stomach gives an uncomfortable twist. He’d kept them as a keepsake, something to cherish years from now, a way of remembering the long weeks he’s spent raising Echo. But now he wishes he’d tossed them away over the edge of a cliff and had done with them. If the guards uncover the egg, questions are bound to be asked – questions that he has no hope of answering without raising suspicion.

A fearful sort of panic blooms in his chest, so sudden and unexpected that it steals the breath from his lungs, pulsing beneath his breastbone rapidly like a second heartbeat, far faster than his own ought to. Overcome by the feeling, he backs away another few paces, breathing unsteadily.

“I wouldn’t run, if I were you,” Digby warns, sword rasping in its sheath as the man draws it swiftly.

“Put that away,” Roxanne snaps, reaching out to grab the younger guard’s arm, but it’s too late; JB’s already pissed.

Ears pressed flat back against his head, the horse lets out an aggressive bellow, rearing back and stamping his front hooves down against the road hard enough that Eggsy can feel the vibrations from ten feet away. Roxanne wisely moves out of his path, but Digby swings around to hold the sword in front of him defensively.

“Oi!” Eggsy yells, feet moving before he’s fully thought things through. “Get away from ‘im, you prick!”

A blow to his stomach doubles him over, Rufus having delivered a swift punch from the side. The guard lands second blow to the back of his neck disorientates him, knees hitting the ground hard as his legs crumple beneath his weight. He fumbles to pull his father’s sword from its sheath on his back, but a booted foot kicks him in the side of the head, sending him tumbling over in a dazed heap as the both Charlie and the female guard shout for their companions to cease, the words muffled by the frantic pulsing of a heartbeat in Eggsy’s ears, one that he _knows_  doesn't belong to him.

And then Echo starts screaming.

Bursting through the trees and onto the road, the enraged dragon barrels straight towards Rufus at high speed, colliding with the human and sending him flying back several feet. Eggsy struggles to push himself up onto his forearms, blinking hard as blood drips into his eyes from the cut on his brow.

“Stand back!” Roxanne cautions. “Don’t frighten it further!”

To his surprise, all four guards are keeping their distance now, although with how _angry_ Echo looks, it’s certainly understandable. The hatchling hisses at the strangers, tail whipping back and forth, head lowered and ridged back arched as it circles Eggsy defensively.

“Shh,” Eggsy tries to soothe, even as he’s forced to give up on his quest to push himself upright, arms too weak and shaky to support him. “Don’t…don’t fight them, titbit. It’s alright, I’m not hurt bad.”

Echo responds to his calming tone immediately, posture softening and tail stilling as the dragon turns towards him with a low, cautious little warble, snout gently nudging up against Eggsy’s cheek. The youth lifts a shaking hand to stroke over the creature’s neck, but his head’s pounding so hard he can barely see now, sound fading in and out in waves, snippets of voices and the rumble of an approaching cart.

The last thing he hears is Echo’s loud, warning hiss, right before darkness takes him and he knows no more.

 

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

 

He’s jostled awake when the cart goes over a stone in the road, aching head knocking against the wooden slats. Groaning, he stirs, pain shooting down his arms from his wrists, which appear to be shackled above his head.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Blinking past the dots in his vision, he peers through squinting eyes towards the man sitting opposite him in the small box-carriage, the lamp hanging from the ceiling casting shadows over his young face, white teeth glinting as he smiles.

“I was hoping to bring home a spy or petty smuggler,” Charlie continues cheerfully. “But a dragon thief? I hadn’t thought to set my hopes so high. Galahad’s bound to put our unit forward for the selection ceremony now.”

Wait…Eggsy knows that name...

“Galahad?” he slurs, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth.

“My Lord Commander,” Charlie elaborates, his smile turning positively smug. “The greatest Keeper of our age. You’ll be seeing him soon enough, don’t worry. He and Merlin like to deal with dragon-thieves personally.”

Memory returning to him slowly but surely, Eggsy sucks in a sudden, sharp breath at the hollow ache in his chest.

“Where’s Echo?” he demands, his voice hoarse but regaining some of its strength. “I swear, if you’ve hurt my dragon, I’ll-”

“ _Your_ dragon?” Charlie echoes with a scoff. “You _own_ nothing, thief. Roxanne and Digby have taken the hatchling ahead to the central aviary, where it belongs.”

Relief sweeps through him with such aching intensity that it brings tears to his eyes, and he hangs his head to hide the fact, forcing his breathing to slow. Echo’s safe. The hatchling’s with its own kind now, in the care of expert Keepers who will know far more about how to properly raise a dragon than Eggsy could ever hope to learn. This is what he wanted. This is how things were supposed to be.

But then why does his chest _hurt_ so much?

“And as for you.” Charlie’s booted foot nudges him in the shin, and Eggsy realises his ankles are shackled to the bench too. “The law doesn’t look favourably upon those who seek to use dragons for trade. If you’re lucky, they’ll make it a quick death.”

Eggsy sits up a little straighter, flexing his stiff fingers to return life to them and wincing as the muscles in his forearms protest the movement. “I ain’t no dragon thief, bruv.”

Charlie arches an eyebrow at him doubtfully. “A rare species of dragon egg went missing from the hatchery in the Shadow Peaks this past spring. Dozens of Guardians were dispatched to search for it in the months that followed; when their hunt was unsuccessful, it was thought to be lost forever. But we found the shards of that same egg amongst your belonging. The evidence is stacked against you, thief.”

“I’m not the one who took it from the hatchery,” the younger man insists, wrists chafing against the rough metal as he leans forward. “I'd _never_ hurt a dragon, 'specially not a hatchling. I ain't fuckin' sick in the head, bruv."

He forces himself to take a deep breath, to tone it down a little, and continues in a calmer voice, "There was this trader bloke in Marketgate, just North of Boarsmoth. He’d struck a deal with my previous employers to smuggle the egg someplace else, to hatch the dragon and raise it until it was fully-grown, just to be slaughtered for profit. I stole the egg from _him,_ not from its nest. I knew it wouldn’t be safe for a dragon to live in the wild without the protection of its own kind, so I wanted to bring it back to the Capital to be raised by Keepers. But it hatched along the way.”

The man opposite him is wearing a peculiar expression now. “You were trying to return the dragon to us?” he reiterates slowly. At Eggsy’s nod, the man argues, with a tone of slight exasperation, “Then why didn’t you say so from the start? Why all the secrecy? We’re guardians-in-training, the dragon’s safety would’ve become our chief concern. We could've _helped_ you.”

“Sorry, I was a bit busy bein’ _interrogated_ by you an’ your companions _,”_ Eggsy answers crossly. “Besides, how was I supposed to know who you were? It’s been ten years since I lived here, a lot’s changed since then.” 

Charlie seems to hesitate a moment, brow creased in consideration, before he pulls a set of iron keys from the pouch at it belt and stands up from his bench, leaning over to unfasten the shackles that bind Eggsy’s wrist to the metal hook above his head.

“Don’t make me regret freeing you,” the young guard warns, sitting back down.

Eggsy nods, too busy rubbing feeling back into his cramped forearms to pay much attention to the man, although he can feel Charlie’s eyes on him.

“You used to live in the Capital?”

“When I was a boy, yeah.” The tingling now gone from his fingers, Eggsy lifts a hand to carefully probe the sizeable lump on his temple, wincing at the ache caused by his ministrations. “My father was a Guardian for a while, before he became a Keeper. Don’t remember his uniform lookin’ anythin’ like yours, though.”

A water skin appears out of the corner of his eye, and he sends Charlie a wary glance before accepting it and taking a small, cautious sip. The liquid is cool and refreshing and feels _wonderful_ in his parched throat, so he drinks deeply after the first gulp.

“Thanks,” he mutters, passing it back to the guard, who’s still regarding him with open curiosity.

“Your father,” Charlie hedges. “What was his name?”

He still doesn’t much like the bloke, but the water has served to quench the worst of both his thirst and his anger, and he can’t see any harm in sharing information with him, not if he’s destined to be interrogated by this ‘Merlin’ fellow anyway.

“Unwin,” he answers after a lengthy pause. “Lee Unwin. An’ his dragon was a Crimson Firedancer called _Laenya.”_

Charlie’s staring at him with open astonishment now, his gaze so intense that it makes Eggsy feel a tad uncomfortable, shifting on the wooden bench and glancing away to avoid those piercing blue eyes.

“Eggsy?”

The youth startles, gaze darting back towards Charlie sharply.

“Don’t recall givin’ you my name, bruv,” he says warily, the water in his stomach beginning to churn.

Charlie tilts his head to one side, his gaze considering. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

The cart comes to a juddering halt, almost unseating Eggsy, but the youth recovers quickly, eyeing the man opposite him more closely. “No. Am I s’posed to?”

The man nods slowly. “We-”

A loud thumping on the side of the cart interrupts him, making both men jump.

“Is the prisoner ready for transport?” a gruff voice demands

"We'll talk later, Eggsy." Charlie leans forward quickly to unfasten the shackles that bind the youth’s ankles. “Don’t fight them,” he warns, his voice lacking the authoritative bite it had held earlier that evening. “They’re to escort you to the Keepers’ Hall for interrogation; don’t do anything that might give the guards an excuse to chain you up again. I’ll see to it that your horse is stabled properly.”

Eggsy is still confused as fuck, but he’s grateful that Charlie seems to be on his side now. “Earlier, you said I was bein’ taken to see someone called Galahad. I…I _know_ that name. I think he was a friend of my father’s.”

The guard nods, the hint of a more genuine smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “Then you do remember. Good.” He gives Eggsy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Tell him everything. He’ll listen to you. Try not to lose your temper.”

Charlie thumps on the door of the carriage twice, and there’s the scrape of a bolt being drawn on the outside before it swings open. The guard jumps out, but a moment later pokes his head back inside the carriage, wincing.

“Word of advice? Don’t antagonise Merlin. Wizards can be tetchy at the best of times, but he's liable to turn you into something unpleasant if you piss him off.” The man gives a sharp nod in farewell and squeezes Eggsy's forearm briefly. “Good luck.”

Oh _gods._ What has he gotten himself into?

 

 

 

  _._


	2. The Wizard

.

Eggsy feels like death warmed over.

The water may have taken the bitter taste from his mouth and soothed his parched throat, but the relief he’d previously felt at having his thirst quenched has quickly turned to regret as the incessant pounding in his skull makes his stomach churn something fierce. He keeps from vomiting through sheer willpower, lips pressed tightly closed, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose, keeping all other movement to a minimum. The less he moves, the less the room spins.

At least the guards had been kind enough to escort him to a seat when they’d brought him here – wherever _here_ happens to be. Judging by the sheer number of bookcases and the numerous slatted shelves lined with leather-bound scrolls, the chamber likely belongs to one of the city’s many Archivers – although Eggsy doesn’t want to hazard a guess as to the purpose of the various liquids lined up on display along the long wooden worktable to one side of the room. Some of them appear to be _bubbling_ within their corked jars _._

Definitely a weird sort of interrogation chamber, that’s for sure.

The chamber doors rattle behind him, and he hears the hinges creak as they swing open, but he doesn’t turn around – however much he dislikes the notion of someone coming up behind him unawares, if cranes his neck around to look, he’s fairly certain the contents of his stomach will end up all over the floor.

“Leave us,” a man says, his voice low and strangely accented, carrying with it such effortless authority as to allow no room for doubt in Eggsy’s mind that this man is the ‘Merlin’ he was forewarned about.

 _He’s a wizard,_ he reminds himself, remembering Charlie’s cautionary words. _Don’t piss him off._

Eggsy hears the guards’ retreating footsteps, the grating screech of the door as it’s closed firmly, sealing them in, and as always tends to happen when he’s nervous and unsure about his footing in a sticky situation, Eggsy goes and opens his mouth.

“You might want to do somethin’ about that door, guv,” he advises. “Could do with a bit of grease, yeah? Let me know if you need some help with that, I’m a dab-hand at fixin’ creaky hinges.”

Oh gods, shut up. Shut up, shut up, _shut up._

He startles as a cloth-wrapped parcel is deposited on the table in front of him with an ominous _thunk._ He eyes it warily, fervently hoping that the pointy edges outlined by the bundle of fabric will play no part in his coming interrogation. Hands gripping the arms of the chair, he takes a deep, calming breath in an attempt to settle the nervous fluttering in his chest and swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“I know what you’re gonna accuse me of,” he says, in as clear a voice as he can manage, given the circumstances. “But none of it’s true. I ain’t a traitor, an’ I certainly ain’t no dragon-thief.”

His interrogator finally steps into view to perch on the edge of the table in front of him, scrutinising the youth closely. Eggsy studies his captor in return – the man looks nothing at all like what Eggsy had imagined; tall and strongly built, bald and clean-shaven, with a face that seems somehow both young and aged all at once, and piercing blue eyes that appear to see right through him. Although Eggsy’s never met a wizard before, he’s learnt of them through stories told by the old Archivers back in Gaelford – tales of the last _Druids_ of the North whose eyes had beheld the birthing of rivers and forests centuries ago, who now walked the land like pale shadows, spindly figures swathed in billowing robes, their age marked by their long white beards and crooked wooden staffs.

Maybe this man isn’t ‘Merlin’ after all; maybe Eggsy has finally encountered a stroke of good fortune.

“Then perhaps,” the man says calmly, “you can explain to me how this came to be in your possession?”

With a wave of his hand, the bundle of cloth unwraps itself to reveal the broken remains of Echo’s egg.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Eggsy breathes, wide-eyed, because _the man just used magic without even blinking._ “You really are a wizard.”

“Who and what I am is of no importance,” Merlin answers firmly, brow creasing in a slight frown as he leans forward. Eggsy can’t help instinctively pressing himself back into the chair as far as he can, panic fluttering in his chest again. “Those shards were found in your saddlebags, along with a small fortune in silver pieces. Now, what I’d like to know is how a lad your age managed to find himself with that much money on his hands?”

Eggsy frowns right back at him, insulted and defensive. “Oi, I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re suggestin’.” When Merlin arches an eyebrow at him doubtfully, he ploughs on, “Look, this has all been a big misunderstandin’, guv. An’ I’ll explain everythin’, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t try to turn me into anythin’ unnatural. Or at least hear me out first, yeah?”

Merlin crosses his arms over his chest, his dark tunic stretching across defined muscle beneath (and Eggsy can’t _wait_ to send a raven to Gaelford and tell Master Lyrus that the texts have it all wrong – Druids are built like bloody _cage fighters_ ).

“Very well. I’m listening,” the wizard acquiesces.

The youth takes another deep, steadying breath, his heart fluttering so fast against his ribcage that it feels ready to burst through.

“I didn’t steal the egg,” he begins, then falters and winces a bit as he amends, “well, alright, I suppose I _did_ , but not from its nest. I stole it from this dodgy merchant in Marketgate…”

Once he starts talking, it’s difficult to stop. It’s been a long six weeks; the first leg of which he’d spent with only a horse for company, while the latter weeks had caused him such acute anxiety that it’s a wonder he’s emerged with his sanity still intact. He’d lived in a constant state of fear that their small party of three would be accosted by bandits, or that he’d wake up to find Echo missing, stolen by someone who would seek to use the dragon for profit. The journey to the Capital had been long and difficult, but the burden of responsibility resting on his shoulders had been the harder weight to carry, especially with the knowledge that every step he took bore him further and further away from his mother and sister.

Perhaps it’s a side-effect of his recent head injury, or the ever-present fluttering in his chest distracting him into loosening his tongue, but before he quite realises what’s happened, he’s told Merlin _everything._ How he’d fled from Dean and Carrios with the company’s horses to stop them from pursuing him, his surprise when the egg had suddenly hatched months ahead of the merchant’s predictions, how worried he’d been when Echo had gone three days without eating a morsel, the additional weeks spent wandering through the wilderness to avoid running into patrols on the main road, fearing for the hatchling’s safety if they were caught. How little he’d slept this past week as their journey neared its end, torn two ways between a sense of moral duty in returning the kit to the Capital and his growing affection for Echo, fretful that the dragon would perceive their inevitable separation as wilful abandonment on his part.

Eggsy’s not sure how long he talks for, but his voice has grown hoarse and his head is pounding again, and he sends a wincing, wary glance towards his captor. But the animosity has long since gone from Merlin’s gaze, and when the man rests his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, his touch is gentle.

“You did well to come so far on your own, lad,” the wizard tells him. “The Capital is greatly indebted to you for bringing the dragon home to us.” Glancing down at the broken shell on the table, Merlin reverently runs his fingertips over the edge of one of the blue-green shards. “Nightsong hatchlings have been the primary target of dragon-thieves and scale traders this past decade. By their nature, they’re a very trusting species, and their inability to breathe fire makes them vulnerable to poachers. They’ve all but gone extinct – but your wee hatchling births a new hope for their survival.”

Eggsy idly rubs at his sternum, where the frantic fluttering of a nervous heartbeat still pulsates, despite how the residual tension has seeped from the rest of his body.

“Nightsong?” he echoes, curiosity piqued. “Is that what it is?”

“Mm,” Merlin confirms, crossing the room to the long workbench that lines the far wall, fetching a jar of ominously bubbling liquid down from the shelf above. “Highly intelligent beasts, Nightsongs – some would argue they have the same capacity for learning as man, although I doubt you could coax one to sit down and study the histories from dawn ‘til dusk. You’ll never find a faster species of dragon when it comes to flying, mind – their swiftness is what earns them their name. A fully-grown Nightsong can fly at such speeds as to make the wind whistle off its wings.”

The wizard regains his perch on the edge of the table and gently places a finger beneath the youth’s chin to tilt his head back. “Let me take a wee look at that cut.”

“Echo ain’t all that great at flyin’ just yet,” Eggsy confesses, wincing as the man dabs at the gash above his brow with something wet and cold from the jar. “Pretty ace at climbin’ though, little bugger. Used to nick my boots while I was asleep an’ hide ‘em up a tree somewhere, thought it was a right good game.”

A small, amused smile curls at the very corner of Merlin’s mouth as he closes his eyes briefly and rests the flat of his palm against Eggsy’s brow, the heat from his skin surprisingly intense.

“Sounds like you had your hands full,” the wizard comments quietly. “Raising a hatchling is no small task. A Keeper will typically train five or more years before being granted the privilege of caring for an unbonded dragon.” He opens his eyes again and bestows a warmer smile upon the youth. “There we are. Good as new.”

The throbbing heat in his brow has vanished, along with the pounding ache in his skull, and Eggsy blinks in surprise, startled by how clearly he can focus all of a sudden. He reaches up to touch his injured face as Merlin pulls his hand away, and finds the cut above his brow reduced to half its size and neatly scabbed over, and most of the swelling gone from around his temple.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and drops his hand to his sternum again, where that fluttering feeling of nervous unease hasn’t faded in the slightest. _Weird._

Merlin catches sight of the movement, his brow creasing ever so slightly in concern. “I’m sorry your visit to the Capital started out so poorly,” the wizard apologises. “Rest assured I’ll be having words with the Guardians who arrested you about their somewhat… overzealous method of apprehension.”

“S’alright,” he reassures distractedly, his chest beginning to grow alarmingly tight, and he rubs at his sternum a little harder. “I’m not hurt. I just…I feel…”

A sudden and overwhelming surge of pure _terror_ hits him like a hammer to the gut, and he hunches over with a grunt, free hand gripping onto the arm of the chair for support as he sucks in several rapid, shallow breathes.

What the _hell_ is going on? Why does he feel so _frightened?_ The danger has passed, Merlin believes his story and everything’s going to be alright – there’s no logical reason for his heart to be pounding like this, no need for him to feel a sudden impulse to run and hide. He’s safe, he’s _fine,_ why in hell’s name can’t he calm down?

Unless…unless the emotions aren’t actually _his._

What if all of this – all the fear, the panic, the sudden need to protect himself – is coming from _Echo?_ It’s happened before – earlier today, in fact, when the dragon had come screaming to his rescue on the road. But the feeling has never been quite so _intense_ before, he can scarcely catch his breath because of it.

“I have to go,” he says abruptly, pushing himself to his feet on wobbly legs, shrugging off the wizards hands when they move to steady him, feeling all but ready to jump out of his skin with the panic clawing its way up inside of him. “I need…I need to find Echo.”

Merlin reaches for him again, his bemused expression giving way to a deepening concern. “Easy, lad,” he soothes. “You’ve taken a knock to the head. Why don’t you sit down for a spell?”

But Eggsy’s already turning away, the temporary dizziness abating as the panic in his chest gives him focus, and between one breath and the next, he’s set off at a run. He hits the heavy oak door hard enough to knock against the guard standing on the other side of it, but daren’t spare the time for an apology, heading off down the torch-lit corridor at a flat-out sprint.

As a spirited lad of nine summers, Eggsy had always been smaller and scrawnier than his peers, with a stature thoroughly unsuited to menial labour as a farmhand. It had often rendered him the target of more than a little teasing from the stronger, taller boys who lived nearby (that he was a fatherless stranger from the Capital wearing unusually fancy clothes for his low status hadn’t helped matters, either). But he’d always been _fast,_ light on his feet with quick reflexes and a sound, sensible mind, which is how he’d drawn the attention of the Archivers of Gaelford in the first place. In exchange for lessons in literacy and mathematics, history and geography, the town’s chief Archiver had sent him running messages to and from the various town councilmen on a daily basis. Master Lyrus had always kept a sweetmeat close to hand, a reward upon his return if a letter was delivered speedily – motivation indeed for any nine-year-old.

Eggsy may have grown significantly since then, but he certainly hasn’t lost his talent for sprinting. 

“Halt!” one of the guardsmen orders, and he hears the _clink_ of chainmail and the pounding of heavy booted feet as the men begin their pursuit. “In the name of the King!”

Eggsy honestly doesn’t give a rat’s arse about the King; he needs to find his _dragon._

The darkened hallways are woefully unfamiliar, branching off every twenty paces into adjoining corridors, and Eggsy despairs as the seemingly unfathomable labyrinth grows ever more complex the further he runs. Gods, why hadn’t he paid closer attention when they’d marched him through from the courtyard? The Keepers’ Halls sit adjacent to the central Aviary; he need only find his way back into the open air and his destination will be within his sights. But _curses,_ where in hell’s name is a window when he needs one? In his panic he’s gotten himself all turned around, he can’t tell if he’s running _away_ from the guards or _towards_ them, and _hell’s fire_ , he’s wasting time, Echo _needs_ him-

_Oof!_

Bouncing off the wall of solid muscle, Eggsy topples backwards in an inelegant sprawl. The shock of it is enough to take the edge off his mounting panic, and his vision clears momentarily. Blinking at the pair of dark leather boots in front of him, his gaze travels up (and up, and up, and up, good _gods_ this man’s tall) until his gaze his caught by a pair of warm brown eyes.

“That was quite a tumble,” the man says in good humour, stooping to offer Eggsy a gloved hand. “Up you come, lad.”

Eggsy can’t help but stare at him, because he _knows_ that face. Ten years may have added a few more lines and taken a little off his hairline, but the man’s voice and kind eyes are exactly as Eggsy remembers them. It’s _him_ , Lord Hart, the man with whom his father had kept such close companionship during his short-lived years as a Keeper.

“Galahad?”

The man blinks at him in apparent surprise, but his smile widens pleasantly.  

“I see we’re already acquainted? You’ll have to forgive me, I’m afraid my memory of late has been a tad unreliable.” Lord Hart at taps a healing gash near his left temple. “Last week I found myself butting heads with the wrong end of a nesting Bouldertail. Powerful swing, those beasts, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Eggsy finds himself nodding, even though he has absolutely no idea what the man’s talking about, and allows Galahad to help him to his feet.

“Sorry for bumpin’ into you, Sir,” he manages, and he’s proud that his voice only has a _little_ wobble in it, considering the panic still cloying at the back of his throat. “Don’t suppose you could tell me the quickest way to the Aviary?”

The older man arches an eyebrow at him, his smile knowing. “Off to see the new hatchling, I presume?” Eggsy’s eyes must widen at being caught in the act, because the Keeper laughs softly and pats him on the shoulder. “Not to worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll be heading that way myself shortly.” He gestures down the corridor ahead of them. “Continue on until you reach the next left turning. Take it, and you’ll come across a set of stairs shortly thereafter – they’ll lead you out into the courtyard.”

“Oh.” Eggsy can’t quite keep the surprise from his expression. “Um. Thank you, my lord.”

“Not at all.” Galahad pats his shoulder again. “Just be sure to return to your chamber before the training-master catches you up and about after dark, there’s a good lad.”

He nods again, even managing a shallow bow, and sets off down the corridor at as brisk a walk as he dares without making it look too obviously like he’s fleeing for his life. So Lord Hart’s taken him for some sort of guardian-in-training? Good. That’s a relief. For a moment, Eggsy had thought himself caught and cornered for certain-

“You there! Halt!”

_Oh, heavens be damned._

Eggsy runs.

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

He hears his dragon the moment he sets foot in the Aviary.

Doubled over in the doorway and gasping for breath with a massive stitch in his side, he freezes, heart shooting up into his throat at the sound of an all too familiar screech reverberating up through the wide stone corridor ahead.

“Echo,” he breathes.

His fatigue suddenly gone, Eggsy sets off at a sprint again, using the sound of Echo’s frightened vocalisations to navigate the unfamiliar passageways. He can’t pause even for a moment - the guards won’t be far behind him, he’s sure of that, and he _has_ to find Echo before they have a chance to catch up.

Eventually the screeching goes louder, the sound leading him to the entrance of a huge, cavernous chamber, the heavy metal-plated doors sitting ajar. He takes all in at a glance, mouth slightly agape – lit on all sides by burning braziers, the chamber is easily the largest he’s ever seen, the ceiling so high that Eggsy can scarcely tell if it’s a roof or a starless night’s sky hanging overhead. But his attention is quickly drawn away from the architecture when a familiar, high-pitched scream of terror sounds out clearly from a torch-lit alcove nearby.

His legs carry him swiftly across the chamber, straw and some sort of soft dirt silencing the thud of his booted feet, and he skids to a halt at the entrance to the alcove, finding a sizeable side-chamber beyond, and his eyes widen as familiar dark-green scales glint in the firelight.

_Echo._

But dear gods, the hatchling looks _petrified._ Backed up against the far wall and hunkered down behind an overturned drinking trough, Echo’s tail whips back and forth in agitation, head lowered close to the floor and back arched, poised for a fight, mouth open in a defensive hiss as its amber eyes flicker back and forth between the half-dozen Keepers that have assembled in a loose semi-circle in front of the dragon.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” one of the men reassures soothingly, hands raised palm-outwards towards the hatchling. “Elyan, perhaps try the rabbit?”

A young, dark-skinned Keeper takes a slow step forward, a few chunks of raw meat skewered on the end of a short pole. Echo’s head swings around to look at him, and as the stick advances closer the dragon gives another alarmed screech and scrambles further away, stumbling over the trough and landing in sprawl, legs and wings scrabbling in the air agitatedly until its able to flip back over onto its front, teeth bared in another hiss, body trembling.

“I don’t think it’s peckish, James,” Elyan comments wryly. “As I said before, perhaps we ought to call Merlin.”

Eggsy’s witnessed enough to ascertain that these Keepers, however skilled they might be, stand no chance of soothing the hatchling, not in the state it’s gotten itself into.  He strides forwards quickly, intent on comforting Echo himself, but before he can slip past their line of defence, one of the Keepers has seized him by the arm.

He tries to twist away, but the man’s grip is unfaltering.

“Let me _go,”_ he beseeches, pushing against the man’s chest with all his might until his other arm is seized in a similarly fierce hold.

“Hush,” the Keeper chides, in a tone far more gentle than his grip. “You’ll frighten the beasts. They aren’t accustomed to strangers.”

“It isn’t safe for you in here, lad,” James agrees, his voice equally as calm. “Bors, kindly escort our guest outside and guard him until-”

“No!” Eggsy protests, struggling anew at the threat of being removed from the chamber. “Wait, please, just let me-”

He’s interrupted by another screech from Echo – this time of a very different nature. Eggsy has heard it only once before (earlier that day, in fact, when Rufus and Digby had attacked him on the road), the scream set at such a pitch and bellowed with such ferocity that Bors’ grip on Eggsy loosens in surprise, enough that the youth is able to yank his arms free.

Echo’s found the courage to move several feet closer, the ridges along the hatchling’s arched spine jutting out as it hisses at the Keepers in apparent fury, but the moment Eggsy breaks loose and stumbles towards it, the dragon’s defences drop immediately. It takes several bounding steps towards him before launching itself at Eggsy in a powerful leap.

“Look out!” one of the Keepers cries in warning.

Eggsy pays them no heed, allowing the weight and momentum of Echo’s pounce to send him toppling back into the dirt, uncaring of the aches that awaken in his body upon impact. He grins, wrapping both arms around the hatchling’s warm body in a fierce embrace as Echo trills at him in delight, nuzzling into his neck.

“You’re alright, titbit,” he promises, eyes closed against the threat of tears that sting there, sucking in deep, pain-free breaths for the first time in what feels like _hours._ “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

The dragon seems determined to bury itself in Eggsy’s hold as it had once done as a newborn hatchling, trying to tuck its legs in close, wings pressed flat against its back, tail curled so far around its body that it brushes up against the side of the youth’s face. Eggsy chokes on a tearful laugh, the warmth and happiness bubbling up inside him so fiercely that it’s hard to tell if the emotion belongs to him or to Echo.

And to think that he might never have held the hatchling like this again… _gods,_ what a horrible day it’s been. It’s almost enough to make him regret coming to the Capital in the first place.  

He lays there on the straw-strewn ground for an indeterminable length of time, basking in the pleasant warmth of satisfaction that now pulses in his chest, the fear and panic he’d felt before now a hazy memory. There are low voices murmuring nearby – the Keepers, he can only assume – but since none of them have made a move to take Echo from him, or to remove him from the chamber as they’d previously intended, he doesn’t bother listening in. He’s far too preoccupied with the soft, contented purrs rumbling through the dragon in his arms, and with his eyes closed, he can almost pretend they’re out in the wilderness again, curled up together to sleep beneath a starry sky.  

“Eggsy?”

The spell broken, Eggsy reluctantly opens his eyes, turning his head to the side just enough to meet Merlin’s gaze as the wizard sinks into a slow crouch beside him. The other Keepers seem to have withdrawn to give them some privacy, although Eggsy spies a shadow moving beyond the entrance to the alcove, so he suspects they haven’t gone far.

Echo tenses in his arms at the wizard’s close proximity, lifting his head and letting out a sharp, warning little hiss, and Eggsy can’t help but feel both touched and a little sad that the hatchling has grown so fiercely protective of him all of a sudden.

“Shush, you,” he chides fondly, cupping a hand over the dragon’s snout. “He’s a friend, he ain’t gonna hurt us.”

Echo gives a low rumble of protest at the rebuke but obediently settles back against him, wary amber eyes fixed on the wizard.

“I’m glad to see you found your way here,” Merlin tells him quietly after a brief pause. “I feared you might have gotten yourself lost; the Keepers’ Halls aren’t the easiest to navigate, and you ran off before I could give you directions.”

With some effort (because his wolf-size dragon doesn’t half way a ton), Eggsy pushes himself upright, wincing when clawed feet scrabble against him in an effort not to slip from his hold.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, helping Echo to settle down in his lap instead, small head and bent forelegs tucked up against his stomach, the hatchling’s long tail curling over his hip and around his back. “Echo’s never been away from me for more than a moment or two, he was scared, y’know? I didn’t think you’d let me go just like that, an’ I couldn’t…there wasn’t time to-”

“It’s alright,” the wizard interrupts gently, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself, lad. Your wee bairn needed you, that’s reason enough for me.”

Eggsy’s grateful that Merlin seems unperturbed by his somewhat erratic behaviour, and glances back down at Echo when the hatchling nuzzles further against him, snout buried under the lower hem of his tunic. He gently smooths a hand over the dark green scales, admiring how they gleam in the dim light cast by the wall-mounted brazier.

“I could feel it,” he admits, fingertips tracing the now-softened ridges of Echo’s spine. “The fear, the panic. I felt… _cornered;_ like I wanted to run an’ hide. But you were bein’ nice an’ all, so I knew it weren’t comin’ from _me._ ” He glances up at the wizard uncertainly. “How’s that even possible? Is it magic, or somethin’?”

Merlin nods, shifting to sit more comfortably. “Aye, of a sort. It’s called a soul-bond, lad.”

“A soul-bond?” Eggsy glances down at the hatchling again in surprise.

He might’ve been away from the Capital for ten years, but he’s studied enough dragon-lore to know the significance of a dragon’s bond. It’s how Guardians are said to become Keepers – once a dragon chooses its rider, their spirits are bound together, two souls forever intertwined until death should see them parted. Eggsy doesn’t remember his own father’s bonding ceremony, but he can recall when the man’s uniform had changed from the dark brown of a Guardian to the pearly-white of a bonded Keeper. And he remembers Laenya; the sweet-natured gentle giant who had slept curled up in the courtyard behind their house every night, who would poke her scaled snout through Eggsy’s bedroom window and puff hot air against his neck until he awoke, giggling. Upon Lee’s death, a part of her soul had perished along with him, and she’d been lost to them forever – Eggsy had cried over her absence almost as hard as he’d wept over the loss of his father.

“You won’t necessarily be bound together eternally,” Merlin reassures. “Hatchlings typically form an initial bond with their birthing mother during the first two years of life, and go on to develop a second, more intricate bond with their chosen rider once they’ve reached their maturity.” The wizard reaches out to tenderly brush his fingers against the dragon’s flank. “Your wee’n is no older than a babe in arms. It looks to you as its mother, no doubt about it.”

The youth can’t suppress the burst of warmth and happiness that fills him at hearing Merlin confirm what his heart’s been telling him these past few weeks. Echo is _his,_ as surely as Eggsy belongs to the dragon, and everything he’s felt since he first took the newborn hatchling into his arms is _real,_ not just a figment of Eggsy’s imagination. Gods, he’s never been so happy.

He glances back up at Merlin to voice the sentiment, only for his mouth to fall open in a silent gasp of awe as a huge, scaled head appears in the doorway to the alcove. Coloured such a deep blue hue that its scales seem almost black, and with a frame so hulking that it has no hope of passing through the doorway, it’s easily the biggest dragon that Eggsy’s ever seen. The beast easily dwarfs Merlin as it lowers its scaly snout to butt up against the man’s back.

“Home already, old boy?” the wizard asks, a smile in his voice as he half-turns to caress the beast between its nostrils. “I ought to have known he wouldn’t stay away for long, not with a new hatchling in the Aviery. I’m surprised he bothered reporting to the King at all, he’s usually far more impatient.”

The dragon snorts out a breath of hot air in protest, and Merlin turns his head to the side with a soft laugh to avoid the heat of it, shoving at the massive snout playfully.

“Och, come on, you know it’s true.”

The beast’s attention shifts from the wizard to where Eggsy is seated with Echo dozing in his lap. The dragon lets out a low, pulsating rumble of apparent interest, and bracing one clawed foot on the ground directly beside Merlin’s knee, it squeezes its shoulders through the entrance to the chamber in order to lower his scaly head to study the newcomers more closely. Eggsy instinctively leans back a little (because holy _fuck,_ that’s a full-grown dragon and it’s _huge),_ his arms curling protectively over Echo’s head as the beast snuffs at them curiously.

“It’s alright,” Merlin reassures, resting a hand on the side of the dragon’s trunk-like neck. “This is Aldor. You needn’t fear him, he’s a gentle soul – he’s bonded to our Chief of Keepers, Galahad. Aldor, this is Eggsy, and his wee bairn…?”

“Echo,” the youth supploes, keeping his voice low so as not to awaken the hatchling. His dragon’s had one hell of a day, it’s no surprise he’s so tuckered out. “It’s an honour to meet you, Aldor.”

The dragon seems pleased by that reception, if the way he gently butts his snout against the youth’s shoulder is any indication. He seems to be trying to suss out Eggsy’s scent, snuffling at his hair, his throat, his chest, even lapping once at his cheek with a hot, rough tongue.

“Cheers for that,” Eggsy says, amused, even as he wipes off the sticky saliva with his sleeve.

Merlin pats Aldor’s neck, looking a tad bemused. “What’s gotten into you, ye daft old beastie?”

Eggsy reaches out, smiling when the dragon surges forward to press up against the palm of his hand, giving a purring rumble not entirely dissimilar to Echo’s (albeit several octaves deeper).

“Maybe I smell like someone he used to know,” he murmurs, and strokes his hand against the dark, glossy scales. “I’m sorry, Aldor, I don’t remember meetin’ you before. But maybe you remember my father?”

“Oh?” Merlin looks at him inquisitively. “What was his name, lad?”

“Lee Unwin,” a new voice adds, and Eggsy glances up sharply, gaze landing on the tall Keeper who’s suddenly appeared beside Aldor’s foreleg. “That was his father’s name.”

Harry Hart moves forward slowly, leather boots barely making a whisper against the hay-strewn floor, dragging a hand over Aldor’s neck in what appears to be a habitual caress before sinking down onto one knee beside Eggsy, his gaze unwavering. A small, warm smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

“Hello, Eggsy.”

The youth swallows, dropping his hand from Aldor’s snout. “You remember me?”

“I admit, I failed to recognise you when we bumped into each other back in the Halls,” Galahad acknowledges. “But I ran into Charlie, one of my young Guardians, and he had some most interesting news to tell me. I see now that none of it was exaggerated.”

The man’s gaze finally drops to the sleeping hatchling, his smile curling wider and more beatific as the baby dragon nuzzles closer into Eggsy’s hold.

“I’m sure you have quite a tale to tell, my boy,” Harry remarks, and settles himself more comfortably on the ground, reaching up to stroke Aldor when the dragon puffs hot breath at him. “Why don’t you start from the very beginning?”

Finding that his lingering fatigue has vanished without a trace, Eggsy returns the smile and obliges him.

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as always, this idea has spiralled perfectly out of control and my muse now demands a proper story where I had initially intended for dragon cuteness and lowkey Hartwin. That being said, I'm pretty stoked for where this fic is going. More Hartwin to come! Echo's training will begin in the next chapter, as will Eggsy's journey as a dragon-mama. The wee hatchling has an unfortunate penchant for mischief. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Apologies for the delay in updating, work's been a tad busy recently. Hoping to post more regularly in the future. <3


	3. The Aviary

 

.

 

After endless weeks spent sleeping on the hard ground with nought but a stolen cushion beneath his head for comfort, the makeshift pallet that the Keepers erect for him in Echo’s cosy chamber is comparatively luxurious.

“We can fetch you another blanket, if you get too cold,” Harry offers, glancing towards him with a warm smile as he strokes a hand down Echo’s spine, the hatchling eagerly polishing off his fish supper. “Lancelot will be taking the night watch, so if there’s anything you need, you mustn’t hesitate to ask him.”

“Thank you,” Eggsy murmurs, low and sincere, dropping down to sit heavily on the edge of the pallet before his aching knees can give out from underneath him.

Gods, he’s _tired._ With all that’s happened over the course of the evening, it must be nearing midnight by now. While Merlin’s magical arts have healed his physical wounds, stress and muscle fatigue have taken their own toll on his body; he’s desperate for a good night’s sleep.

“You’ve had a rather trying day,” Galahad sympathises, rising from his crouch gracefully. “Get some rest, lad; we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Echo, no longer the centre of attention, pushes its snout up into Harry’s hand with an adorable little trill, sinking back to sit on its hind legs, tail curling around itself as it peers up at the Keeper hopefully. Harry glances down at the hatchling with a soft look.

“And growing dragons need their sleep,” the Keeper adds, warmth and humour in his voice. “The moon is waning, little one. Go on; off to bed with you.”

The hatchling gives a short, chirping cry of protest and nuzzles up into the man’s palm with greater fervour.

Eggsy smiles in fond amusement at the sight.

“Doesn’t take much to win you over, does it?” he comments wryly, as Echo tilts its head to one side in an invitation for Galahad to pet its favourite tickle-spot. “Merlin weren’t kiddin’ when he said Nightsongs were trustin’.”

Ever since the hatchling recovered from its initial fit of terror (a process which had taken only a brief span of minutes once Eggsy had arrived at the scene to settle him), Echo has been irrepressibly curious of his new surroundings. He wants to sniff and touch and taste everything (and every _one)_ , eager to interact playfully with other humans now that his caretaker is present. Eggsy can already see plain as day that the hatchling is going to be spoiled _rotten_ by the aviary Keepers, certainly if Galahad’s doting behaviour towards the kit is any indication.

“Come on, trouble.” Eggsy shifts further back onto the pallet, kicking off his boots and patting the bedding beckoningly. “Think we’ve both had enough excitement for one evenin’.”

The hatchling glances across at him, posture drooping a little as he lets out a low, plaintive warble, amber eyes wide and beseeching.

“Don’t you start,” Eggsy warns, but he can’t keep the smile from his voice as he watches the hatchling attempt to conceal itself behind Harry’s legs. “Come on. S’bedtime, titbit.” A huge yawn threatens to split his jaw in two, and he scrubs at his eyes wearily. “Gods, I’m _knackered.”_

“I’ll leave orders with the Guardians to keep the noise to a minimum,” Galahad reassures him, gently nudging Echo back towards the youth. “Training begins at dawn, but Aldor will see to it that you aren’t disturbed.”

Eggsy glances towards the archway that serves as an entrance to their snug side-chamber, where Aldor’s massive head, shoulders and forelegs block the passage entirely. The dragon appears to be sleeping, but at Harry’s words a single scaled eyelid peels back, and the beast exhales a short huff of apparent assent before abruptly dozing off again.

Harry’s lips curl up in a fond smile as he moves over to stroke the dragon between its huge nostrils. “Try not to let the hatchling loose, there’s a love.”

Aldor gives a deep, pulsating sort of rumble (not entirely dissimilar to Echo’s purring trills, albeit several octaves lower), pushing up into the contact. Galahad stoops briefly to press his forehead to the beast’s scaled brow, an action that seems so deeply intimate that Eggsy feels the urge to glance away out of respect for their privacy. He can vaguely recall seeing his father behave in a similar way with Laenya; the two were so rarely apart that he has no real memory of Lee _without_ the dragon present.

Harry straightens after a moment, turning back to face Eggsy, and arches an expectant eyebrow.

“One tends to find it easier to sleep if one adopts a more horizontal position.”

The youth huffs out a quiet laugh; he hasn’t the strength to argue with the man, even if he’d wanted to. Instead, he allows himself to slump sideways across the pallet, scooting so that his back is pressed to the smooth stone wall, and extends an arm invitingly towards Echo.

This time the baby dragon waddles closer without complaint, snuffling curiously at the pallet-bed and blankets before hopping up to curl against his side with a throaty purr of approval. Eggsy wraps an arm around the hatchling, eyelids already beginning to droop, and sends Galahad another tired, grateful smile.

“G’night, Sir. And thank you, for…” He makes a vague, all-encompassing gesture at his surroundings. “Y’know, _everythin’._ ”

The Keeper inclines his head in a single nod of acknowledgement, and while his expression remains warm, for a moment there’s this look of sadness about his eyes that Eggsy can remember seeing before, long ago. But then his growing fatigue finally overcomes him, lids fluttering shut over aching eyes as his body seems to melt into the cushioned pallet.

He hears the torch being drawn from its wall-mounted bracket, quiet footsteps receding as the light against his eyelids dims to nothingness. Then softly, a low murmur echoing back across the chamber from the archway:

“Goodnight, Eggsy.”

 

 

The youth sleeps soundly that night (better than he has in _months,_ as a matter of fact), his mind finally at ease, unburdened by the fear of being accosted by bandits or attacked by some wild beast in the forest. The pallet beneath him supports his aching limbs wonderfully, the pillow under his head so soft he feels as though he might sink right through it, and with Echo’s body a constant reassuring warmth along his side, he’s lost in pleasant dreams ‘til long after morning has broken.  

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

“Argh!”

Eggsy lurches upright with a start, momentarily alarmed by his unfamiliar surroundings until his mind catches up and memories of the previous evening come flooding back.

“Aldor!” a male voice echoes throughout the dimly lit side-chamber. “Put me _down!”_

Glancing across towards the entryway, Eggsy sucks in a shallow gasp at the sight that greets him – a huge, dark shadow looming just beyond the threshold, a beige-uniformed Guardian dangling from its mouth like a fox with a freshly caught rabbit.

He launches himself up from the pallet, over Echo’s sleeping form, and makes a run for the archway, heart in his throat. _Oh gods…_

Upon closer inspection, however, it becomes apparent that the man is in no real danger. Aldor simply has the young guardian held aloft by the back of his leather jerkin, the material pinched delicately between its front teeth as a wolf might scruff a cub, the man’s booted feet dangling several inches above the floor. But the dragon’s posture is utterly at rest, and if Eggsy didn’t know any better, he’d say the look in the beast’s eyes was _playful._

Daylight streams down into the cavernous main chamber through several large, circular holes in the ceiling high above them, and Eggsy takes a moment to gape at his surroundings, at the towering pillars upon which large nesting platforms have been constructed; the dozen or more matching alcoves dotted about the walls of the vast chamber, scaled heads emerging from within to peer towards him curiously. (Not to mention the numerous dragons of various shapes and sizes scattered about the place, or perched on beams high up in the rafters,).

“Ah. Good morning.”

Eggsy startles at the voice, gaze snapping back to the man currently hanging in mid-air. His eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Charlie?”

The Guardian shoots him an abashed sort of grin from several feet up, arms wrapped securely around a sizeable and oddly-shaped bundle of fabric.

“I apologise for the rude awakening,” the man greets, his voice slightly strained as he rotates slowly in a half-spin, now dangling as a dead weight from the dragon’s snout. “I had hoped to leave these in your chamber and allow you to rest a while longer; I hadn’t realised that Lord Hart had left someone on guard duty.”

The man shoots a resigned look upwards towards his captor, and Aldor gives a deep, rumbling sort of vocalisation that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

“It’s alright, Aldor, you can put him down,” Eggsy reassures, fighting back a smile. “I don’t mind the company.”

The dragon obligingly lowers his head to gently deposit Charlie back on his feet, snout pressing up against the youth’s back to steady him as he stumbles.

“Don’t you have Guardian trainin’ with the others?” Eggsy asks curiously.

“Oh no, I do. I’m just playing truant.” Charlie laughs softly when Aldor abruptly bumps up against shoulder with disapproving snort. “I know, I know - I won’t stay long. I’m not brave enough to keep Merlin waiting.” He steps into the chamber and stoops to set down his burdens. “I just wanted to return these to their rightful owner.”

Eggsy unfastens the fabric bundle and immediately recognises the assorted contents of his saddlebags. He grins in relief, kneeling down to inspect them briefly, fingers running reverently over a few more precious items. These are treasures that he would’ve been loath to part with; trinkets and keepsakes from his life in Gaelford, tokens of good fortune from his mother and little sister. With his family now so very far from him, he’s glad to have these close to hand again. The only thing missing is his father’s sword – although he isn’t particularly surprised that the authorities aren’t willing to entrust him, a virtual stranger, with a deadly weapon when he sits in the midst of their Aviary.

“Thank you,” he murmurs sincerely. “You didn’t have to.”

“I rather think I did, actually.” Charlie, fussing with the sleeves of his overtunic, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s the least I could do, all things considered. I…I’m sorry about what happened yesterday; about how beastly I was when we first encountered you. I judged you unfairly on poor evidence, and you were right to call me out on it.”

Smiling a little, pleasantly surprised by the apology (most people in his experience rarely had the decency to acknowledge when they were at fault, especially those of noble blood), Eggsy glances up at the Guardian from his crouch, and for a brief moment he’s struck by a sudden wave of familiarity.

A memory, as sharp and clear as though it had happened yesterday, of a well-dressed youth grinning down at him, holding out an intricately detailed bronze sculpture of a Crimson Firedancer in flight.

_“You’re the son of Keeper Unwin, aren’t you? I saw you today at the tournament. Grandfather says you’re not of a sort that I should play with, but all the other boys are too big or too small; you’re almost my age, so I’m sure we can be friends.”_ A pause. _“You don’t talk very much, do you? That’s alright; my mother doesn’t either, but Grandfather says it’s because she misses Father. Here – Uncle James gave me this for my naming day. It’s just like the one your father rides, isn’t it? You can borrow it, if you like.”_

Eggsy blinks, a long sought-after door opening in his mind to release a sudden flood of remembered sights and sounds and wonders from his forgotten childhood in the Capital, and he stares up at Charlie gormlessly for a moment, suddenly seeing him in a new light.

“I never gave it back to you,” he realises, his voice hushed. “Your bronze Firedancer. It’s still on a shelf in my bedchamber back in Gaelford. I…I’d forgotten it wasn’t mine.”

The young Guardian’s mouth curls upwards in a quiet, pleased smile. “Then you do remember me?”

At Eggsy’s answering nod, he seems ready to say something more, but a sudden hissing from across the room startles them both into silence.

Echo, now fully awake, is poised in a low crouch on the pallet, tail whipping the air agitatedly, amber eyes fixed resolutely on Charlie. The Guardian quickly raises both hands in a placating gesture, softening his posture and lowering his voice.

“Easy, easy,” Charlie soothes. “It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The dragon’s battle-ready stance falters uncertainly at the calming tone, gaze shifting rapidly between Eggsy and the Guardian, before its ridged spine arches again and it lets out another low, warning his. Apparently the hatchling remembers Charlie from the events of Eggsy’s somewhat violent arrest the previous day, and seems intent on holding a grudge.

“Echo,” Eggsy chides softly, more fond than scolding, crossing the chamber to perch on the edge of the pallet beside the kit, stroking a soothing hand down the dragon’s neck. “That’s enough. You can’t go hissin’ at people like that, it ain’t polite. Charlie’s a friend.”

The hatchling gives a low, subdued little chirp and turns to nuzzle up against Eggsy’s throat, clearly still uncertain about their new visitor. The youth smiles, presses a kiss to the scaly snout, and gives the dragon a gentle nudge.

“Go ahead,” he coaxes. “Go an’ say hello, he won’t bite.”

Echo hops down from the pallet with an air of reluctance, inching towards Charlie tentatively, snout twitching as the hatchling scents the air. The Guardian remains utterly still, hand outstretched and posture relaxed, clearly far more accustomed to dealing with flighty dragons that Eggsy could ever hope to be. He allows Echo to snuffle at the sleeve of his grey uniform tunic and brown leather jerkin, breathing out a soft laugh when the hatchling catches the coin-purse on his belt between its teeth and begins tugging at it curiously.

“And my tutors always told me that Nightsongs weren’t supposed to be treasure-hoarders,” Charlie remarks amusedly, carefully prising the small leather purse free so that he can unlace it from his belt, offering it to the dragon with a smile. “Would you like to see it?”

Echo glances back and forth between the offered item and Charlie’s face for a long moment, before delicately taking it between its teeth with a soft coo of appreciation. Turning around so abruptly that its tail whips against the Guardian’s chest, Echo waddles back over to the pallet to show off its new find to Eggsy.

“Yes, it’s very nice,” the youth agrees with a laugh, as the purse is deposited eagerly in his lap, Echo shifting from one foreleg to the other in obvious excitement as the pouch is nudged further and further along Eggsy’s thigh to ensure that the human sees it properly.  “But it ain’t mine, darlin’. Why don’t you take it back to Charlie?”

After sniffing at the purse for another moment, Echo obligingly picks it up again and trots back over to the Guardian, its previous wariness long forgotten. Charlie accepts it with a murmur of thanks, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a fond smile as he watches the dragon, who immediately begins snuffling at his belt again for further treasures.

“You’ve had it now,” Eggsy warns the Guardian, as the hatchling comes waddling back towards him eagerly, head held high and proud, a sheathed dagger held between its teeth. “Echo can keep this up for hours, an’ usually it’s only with sticks and pebbles.”

Charlie shrugs, unconcerned, and settles down to sit cross-legged on the ground, apparently content to indulge the baby dragon in its favourite game.

A significant length of time later, when Echo has presented Eggsy with literally everything but the shirt off Charlie’s back, the hatchling wanders away to the far corner of the chamber to nose at the empty bowl there, likely scenting the fish from the previous evening.

“You must be hungry,” Charlie comments, pulling on his boot as Eggsy passes it back to him with a grin. “The Keepers usually take their dragons hunting at first light, but Echo’s a little young for that. Come, I’ll show you to the nursery; my lord Galahad is likely already there, and I’m certain he’ll welcome the company.”

As the Guardian climbs to his feet and strides for the archway, Eggsy calls for Echo and holds out an arm towards the dragon, waiting until the hatchling has scurried across the room to bump up against his fingers before settling a hand on the dragon’s neck to keep him nearby as they follow Charlie out into the main aviary.

“Galahad works with newborn hatchlings, then?” he asks, hurrying to catch up to the older lad.

Charlie nods, slowing his pace to accommodate for Eggsy’s shorter stride. “He’s our Chief Keeper; it’s his task to guide a hatchling through to adulthood, and, when the time comes, to ensure that it’s bonded to a suitable rider. There aren’t many dragons in the Aviary who _haven’t_ been raised by Lord Hart at one point or another. I’ve heard it said that he was barely fifteen when the council made him a Keeper; right after he rescued Aldor from poachers.”

So Galahad’s dragon had once been in Echo’s position? It’s good to know that a hatchling raised away from its birthing mother can still flourish and grow into such a strong, healthy creature. And speaking of Aldor…

At first he thinks that their winged protector has departed, but as they set out across the massive chamber towards the exit, a shadow swoops down from a perch high above them, landing directly in front of Charlie and forcing the Guardian to stumble to a halt.

The blue-scaled dragon gives a harsh snort, blasting them with pleasantly warm air, and leans in to press his snout against Charlie’s chest, yellow eyes narrowed to slits.

“I haven’t forgotten,” the Guardian reassures, sounding amused rather than cowed, raising his hands in surrender. “And I know I’m running late. I’ll head to training just as soon as I’ve shown them to the nursery, alright?”

Aldor gives another snort, hard enough to ruffle Charlie’s dark hair, then backtracks a few paces to turn around and head towards the exit (clearly intending to escort them there), its tread surprisingly quiet for one so large. Charlie heaves a sigh and shakes his head, and Eggsy darts a quick sideways grin at him, because he can see straight through the feigned exasperation to the affection that lies beneath. The Guardian catches his eye and returns the smile, shoulder bumping gently against Eggsy’s as they walk side by side, and a sudden warmth blooms in his chest at the feeling of _rightness_ that settles upon him.

With their old friendship rekindled, maybe he _can_ learn to call the Capital his home. Perhaps he’ll find happiness here after all.

 

 

 

 

… … … … … … … … … … … …

 

 

 

 

 

Rather than existing as a single large chamber, which is what Eggsy had initially expected, the nursery is in fact comprised of two-dozen smaller chambers (the entryways varying greatly in size to accommodate for larger birthing mothers) set around a large stone courtyard, accessed by a set of steel-enforced doors that are guarded both inside and out by burly-looking Guardians. The Keepers clearly take no chances when it comes to the safety of their hatchlings, and that knowledge alone puts Eggsy greatly at ease.

There’s a large fountain off to one side of the courtyard, which likely serves as both drinking trough and bathing pool for the inhabitants of the nursery, and there’s an assortment of sturdy-looking wooden frames and small platforms built vertically against the opposite wall, clearly designed for climbing and perching.

Echo is in _heaven._

The hatchling hasn’t stopped trilling in excitement since they first arrived, hopping from perch to perch on the large wooden construction, wings flapping clumsily as it tries to ascend to the higher platforms. Eggsy might have been worried about the baby dragon getting a tad too excited and soaring straight out of the Aviary, but a finely-spun net has been fastened high above the courtyard to prevent such an escape attempt.

Watching from one of the stone benches nearby, Eggsy finishes off the last bite of his sweet-apple pastry, sucking the sticky syrup from his thumb and idly stroking his free hand over the snoozing Tinderfowl currently curled up in his lap.

“It appears you’ve made a new friend.”

He glances up at the voice, his hand stilling as the dragon stirs slightly before curling closer against his stomach. Harry Hart regards him with a warm smile, an expression which Eggsy finds almost as distracting as the kitten-sized, orange-scaled hatchling perched on the Keeper’s shoulder, its long tail curled loosely around Galahad’s throat for balance as it sits back on its hind legs, little snout twitching as it scents the air, one forefoot braced against the human’s cheek. It’s _adorable._

“She’ll be nesting soon,” Harry comments, moving to sit down beside him, reaching out to stroke the tips of his fingers over the sleeping dragon’s swollen belly in a reverent caress. “Merlin thinks her clutch could be as large as three.”

Eggsy blinks down at the dragon in wonderment. He knows Tinderfowls are the most common species of dragon _because_ of how readily they make the transition to birthing mother once they reached adulthood, but to lay more than one egg at a time is a rarity even for this species. Most dragons won’t bear offspring at all, which is why hatchlings are so fiercely protected, and those that do become mothers typically nest only once or twice. The prospect of the Tinderfowl in his lap birthing _multiple_ hatchlings is cause for both excitement and bafflement - she’s no larger than Echo had been at three weeks old, the size of an average stable-cat, and while she’s certainly rotund it’s difficult to believe that there could be _three_ matured eggs waiting to be laid.

“How long until they hatch?” he asks, keeping his voice hushed so as not to wake her, watching out of the corner of his eye as Echo winds its tail around one of the wooden beams to dangle upside-down with an excited chirp.

“Only a few short months,” Galahad answers, lifting a hand to his shoulder to help the tiny orange hatchling down from its perch, setting it on the ground with all due care. Judging by its wobbly gait, the babe can’t be more than a few days old, and Eggsy’s heart melts in his chest at the sight. “Tinderfowls are quick to mature. The hatchlings will likely only be in the nursery for eight to ten weeks before they start seeking a bond with the Archivers.”

Eggsy shakes his head a little. There’s so much that the Archivers of Gaelford never told him; he’s learned more talking to the nursery Keepers these past few hours than he has in eight years of dedicated study. On the far side of the Kingdom, dragons are exotic and exciting creatures, truth often spun into fable regarding their abilities, stories passed down from parent to child that soon become myth and legend. But here in the Capital, there are so _many_ dragons; dozens of species in colours and shapes and sizes that Eggsy has never heard of before, not even in the history books he used to pour over under Master Lyrus’ supervision back during his lessons as a scribe. He’d always believed that only Keepers could form soul-bonds with dragons, but apparently the smaller species who cannot bear riders are instead paired with Guild-masters. Though small in stature, Tinderfowls are said to be intelligent beasts, which is why they’re well suited to the life of an Archiver’s companion. And a short while ago, at Galahad’s urging, he had tentatively poked his head into one of the nesting chambers to see a Bouldertail for the first time – they’re large, heavily-built dragons (too stocky for prolonged flight) with dark brown, bark-like skin, whose powerful tail and fire breathing abilities make them great assets in the Capital’s many forges, typically forming a bond with an armorer or blacksmith.

There’s so much Eggsy still doesn’t know – so much left for him to discover. Part of him feels like a child all over again, filled with excitement and awe, keen to learn everything he can about the world around him.

“Have you had enough to eat?”

“Hm?” Eggsy glances away from the hatchling and follows Harry’s gaze down to his empty plate, before flashing the Keeper a smile. “Oh. Yes, thank you, it was delicious.”

He’d not been in the nursery more than a half-hour before one of the Keepers had guided him over to a bench and cheerfully thrust a laden plate into his hands. The pastries had still been warm from the Aviary’s kitchens, sticky with honey and sprinkled with nuts, and the ache of hunger in his stomach had quickly been sated after a few bites. He honestly couldn’t eat another thing, and that was a rarity in itself.

“Astari!” a voice calls, and Eggsy turns to see the dark-skinned Keeper he’d met last night hurrying out from one of the nursery chambers in pursuit of a crimson blur, the hatchling making a break for the hodgepodge wooden structure and nimbly scrambling up to perch on one of the platforms.

“You little devil,” the Keeper chides, hands on his hips as he comes to stand near the bench, peering up at the escapee with a wide grin that belies his words. “Just you wait until your mother gets home.”

“I warned you he was quick, Elyan,” Harry says, amused. “I take it Baeleth went out hunting?”

“Mm,” Elyan confirms, his eyes still attentively on the small hatchling as it leaps from one platform to another nimbly. “She won’t be pleased if Astari doesn’t go down for his nap.”

Eggsy himself can’t stop staring at the baby dragon. It’s deep red colouring, the familiar pattern of ridges along its spine, the golden hue to its underbelly. A peculiar sort of feeling swells in his chest, and his throat feels a bit tight all of a sudden.

“Is…is that…?”

“Astari is a Crimson Firedancer,” Harry tells him softly, and a warm hand settles on his shoulder. “The newest descendant from Laenya’s bloodline.”

His breath catches in his throat. “She birthed a hatchling?”

Harry’s hand squeezes his shoulder gently. “Your father fell while the egg was still maturing; Laenya left for the Shadow Peaks before it could hatch. But her bloodline is strong; all three of her descendants have gone on to bear offspring. And Astari is growing well.”

“A little too quickly, if you ask me,” Elyan remarks wryly. “We’re hitting the rebellious phase a few months ahead of schedule. Astari, careful!”

Harry breathes a quiet laugh, giving Eggsy’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting go, returning his gaze to the Firedancer. “You’ll have a hard time getting it down, especially now it’s found a playmate.”

And indeed, Astari has noticed Echo’s presence and is carefully scaling up another beam to reach the larger hatchling, chirping enthusiastically in greeting. The Nightsong cocks its head, snout twitching, and peers over the lip of the platform curiously, letting out a soft coo in reply when it spots the other creature.

“Can’t hurt to let ‘em get friendly, right?” Eggsy reasons, the tightness in this throat dissipating as he watches the two hatchlings sniff at each other, both uttering quiet, happy little chirps. “Echo hasn’t had anybody else to play with, ‘cept me an’ my horse.”

Oh gods, _JB._ His travelling companion is going to be royally pissed with him for leaving him stabled for so long. But Charlie had assured him that the horse was fed and watered and groomed and _safe,_ and Eggsy’s been too preoccupied with events at the Aviary to even think about paying him a visit. He’ll need to make that his next priority, or JB’s going to be unseating him for weeks.

“Echo?” Elyan repeats curiously, still watching the hatchlings as they interact. “Interesting choice for a name, although I must say it suits your little one well. Is there a story behind it?”

Eggsy shakes his head. “Nah, not really. It just sounds like a shortened version of his proper name, or at least what I _think_ it’s supposed to be - _Icco’aloraeth_. But ‘Icco’ just didn’t sound as good, y’know?”

Both Galahad and Elyan have turned to look at him in surprise, and up on the high wooden platform Echo gives an answering chirp, peering down at him curiously, unaccustomed to Eggsy using its full name. The hatchling’s wings extend as it leaps from its perch to soar down into the courtyard, landing with an endearingly clumsy little stumble not far from the bench and bounding over to bump up against Eggsy’s knee with an affectionate coo. The Tinderfowl in his lap stirs at being jostled, raising her head to peer at Echo briefly before stretching with a yawn and hopping down to slowly waddle towards the peace and quiet of her nesting chamber.

“You’ve studied the Old Tongue?” Harry asks him quietly, as Echo eagerly tries to clamber into Eggsy’s vacated lap, which (being too small for the wolfhound-sized dragon) results in the hatching’s head and upper body laying across his thighs while it slumps back to sit on its hind legs beside the bench, tail curling around Eggsy’s ankles happily.

“Not even a little bit,” he answers truthfully. “None of the Archivers in Gaelford could speak it; Master Lyrus said it wasn’t meant to be a written language.”

“It isn’t,” Harry confirms, studying him with a new sort of intensity that makes Eggsy want to shift in place and straighten his tunic. “It’s a form of ancient Draconis, spoken predominantly between a dragon and its bondmate.”

Eggsy strokes his fingers over Echo’s snout and the hatchling gives a soft, contented purr, nuzzling in closer. “What does it mean? Echo’s real name?”

Galahad seems to ponder on that for a moment, watching Astari climb back down the wooden structure and launch itself into Elyan’s waiting arms.

“It’s a difficult language to interpret,” the Keeper says at last, his gaze shifting back to Eggsy. “An awful lot is conveyed through thought and feeling, and certain inflections alter the meaning of a word entirely. But I suppose a rough translation would be ‘child of my heart’. And were you to use the preferred shortened name, ‘Icco’, it could be interpreted as ‘heart’ or ‘strength’.”

“Child of my heart,” Eggsy murmurs, glancing back down at his hatchling with a soft, fond smile. It certainly _feels_ right, even if the name seems a little unusual. “I like it.”

There’s a sudden splash, followed immediately after by a high, warbling cry of distress, and Eggsy twists around quickly to see that the tiny orange-scaled hatchling has managed to tumble itself into the pool of the fountain and is floundering, front feet scrabbling against the wet stone to pull itself to safety.

He almost lurches to his feet on instinct at the sound of the cry (so very similar to how Echo’s had been as a newborn hatchling), but Galahad is already halfway across the courtyard in a billow of his grey cloak, feet so swift that he’s beside Eggsy in one breath and at the fountain the next, stooping down to rescue the baby dragon from its predicament, pulling the cloak from his shoulders to wrap the wet moppet up in a cosy bundle.

“There, there,” Harry soothes, cradling the kit close to his chest as one might a human babe. “That came as quite a fright, didn’t it? Hush now, little one, I have you.”

Eggsy swears his heart melts at the sight. This noble lord, Chief of Keepers, leader of men, gazing upon a tiny dragon kit like it’s the most precious thing in the world, handling it with such gentleness, his voice soft and full of affection as he carries the hatchling back over to the bench and reclaims his seat. The babe tucks its tiny head beneath Galahad’s chin with a soft chirp, eyelids slowly sliding shut as the Keeper strokes a tender finger over its small neck.

“Where’s its mother?” Eggsy asks quietly.

Harry stills briefly, before resuming his petting. “Poachers,” he answers shortly. “She fell protecting her nest. The criminals were apprehended the following day, and dealt with accordingly. The mother was buried with honour.”

Apparently sensing the man’s growing sadness, Echo inches further across Eggsy’s lap to nuzzle into Harry’s side. The Keeper glances down with a soft smile, extracting an arm from around the bundle of cloak-and-hatchling to caress the Nightsong’s snout briefly.

Eggsy feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. “The hatchling, what’s its name?”

“At present, ‘little one’ is the only name it bears,” Harry tells him, keeping his voice hushed so as not to wake the kit, who’s clearly dozed off contentedly against his chest. “I spent three days caring for it in the hatchery near the Shadow Peaks, it wasn’t strong enough to survive the journey home when we first found it. I only returned last night, shortly after you encountered my young Guardians on the road. Merlin has yet to give it a proper name.”

“An’ does Merlin name all the hatchlings?”

The Keeper nods. “He’s the last Druid of the old Northern clan; it is his rite.” He smiles a little and adds, as an afterthought, “Although I believe he’ll make an exception when it comes to Echo.”

Eggsy can’t deny the feeling of relief that sweeps through him at that. On the journey here, he’d sort of resigned himself to the possibility that Echo would be taken from him _entirely_ when he reached the Capital, renamed and retrained and raised to see him as a stranger. But in his heart of hearts, it would have broken him to see it done – knowing now that such a bond exists between them explains those feelings somewhat, but certainly doesn’t lessen the relief at hearing that Echo will remain _his_ in every manner. His dragon, his child, his _heart._ Gods, the name suits him so well.

The sound of the nursery doors groaning open draws him out of his musings, and he glances up to see Charlie nodding politely to the guards as he slips inside. Echo gives a soft cry in greeting and wriggles down from Eggsy’s lap to go bounding across the courtyard, bumping up against Charlie’s outstretched palm before trotting in circles around the Guardian’s legs.

“Lord Hesketh,” Elyan greets as the youth approaches them, shifting his hold on Astari, who’s draped over his shoulder and seems intent on chewing a hole through the hood of the Keeper’s cloak. “Back from training already?”

Eggsy blinks in surprise. _Lord_ Hesketh? He’d never said anything about being a _Lord…_

The Guardian’s answering smile is tight and forced and doesn’t meet his eyes, and at Eggsy’s side Harry begins to rise, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“Charlie? What is it?”

Coming to stand a few paces away from the bench, the Guardian heaves a tired-sounding sigh, hand coming to rest on Echo’s neck as the hatchling nudges up against his hip with a tentative warble.

“It’s my grandfather,” Charlie says at last, his tone grim and his expression serious.

Eggsy feels a swoop of unease in his stomach. “What happened? Is he alright?”

Charlie glances at him, and his face twitches briefly into an expression that Eggsy can’t quite read, before his lips thin out in another grim, forced smile.

“I’m afraid he wants to meet you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Charlie is a good guy. Charlie is my sweet, precious Bambi who must be protected at all costs. Oh God, what have I done, now I want to write a Kingsman movie fix-it with good!Charlie as Eggsy's BFF. It's just gonna have to happen, guys.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know your thoughts/feelings and whether or not you approve of good!Charlie. <3 xxxx


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